


Portrait Of The Artist

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recovery, Relapse, Sexual Content, Sexual Dysfunction, Support
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 23:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5721508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Present day AU. Trying to get his life back together after losing his house and his job through his drinking, Athos is at rock bottom - at least until he meets Porthos. Athos then has to decide whether to risk losing him again by admitting to the addiction he's still struggling with - and that's not the only problem that's about to get in the way of their budding relationship.</p><p>Written for the prompt of "Athos is taking life drawing classes to help him get over his alcohol withdrawal and Porthos is the model."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They said you couldn't run away from your problems, because wherever you went, you were always taking yourself with you. There seemed to be a sad truth to this Athos mused to himself, standing in the echoing foyer. He'd thought a new town might finally mean a new start, but instead it had only meant unfamiliar surroundings and even more loneliness than before. Hence why, less than a week after moving in, he was standing in a school building after hours and staring at an incomprehensible site map next to a sellotaped sheet of A4 with 'Alcoholics Anonymous' printed on it.

The school building was used for a variety of evening classes and support groups, and various people were coming and going behind him but they all seemed to be in intimidating groups and no one had obligingly come out with a label saying 'alcoholic' stapled to their forehead. He turned back to the map trying to work out which bit of brightly coloured block he was currently standing in, and scratched his head. 

"You alright mate? Going my way?"

At the cheerful voice behind him Athos turned gratefully only to be rendered speechless by the vision of physical perfection that was grinning back at him. Tall, dark and handsome hardly covered it and Athos wished heartily that the answer was yes, but he suspected the only drink problem this guy had was how much kale he could fit in his blender. 

Athos opened his mouth to ask directions to room B05, but before he could get the words out his would-be rescuer was talking again. 

"You here for the sample drawing class, yeah? New sign-ups today. Just on my way up there, I'll show you if you like?"

Athos faltered. Suddenly to tell this gorgeous specimen that actually no, he was here for the sad wankers in the basement club was more than he could bring himself to do. That look of cheerful enquiry would inevitably turn into a look of disgust or pity, which right now might be the last straw.

"Uh - yes," he heard himself saying. "Thank you." Still, maybe it wasn't a bad idea after all. He'd done a bit of sketching when he was younger, although like so many other things in his life that had fallen by the wayside. What he needed right now was a distraction from the cravings, and maybe an art class would actually fit the bill.

"I'm Porthos, by the way," said his rescuer with a smile. "If you sign up for the term, you'll be seeing quite a lot of me." 

"Athos." They shook hands, Porthos already leading him towards the stairwell. He'd assumed from all this that Porthos was the class tutor, so was mildly surprised when they arrived to find this was in fact a woman called Constance, who welcomed him brightly and found him a chair and easel. 

As he took off his coat and got himself settled, she explained to the group that as this was a sample class materials would be provided, but if they signed on for the full term they would be expected to provide their own. This came as a relief to Athos, who'd been wondering how to explain turning up to an art class without so much as a pencil to his name. 

Athos looked around with interest at his fellow wannabe artists. Most were women, he was one of only three men in the class, and as he noted that he wondered where Porthos had gone. 

He wasn't wondering for long. After a minute or two during which they all filled in registration forms, and Athos forked over the sample class fee that everyone else seemed to have paid already, a door at the back into what was presumably a supplies cupboard opened and Porthos came out. Except now he was no longer wearing the jeans and sweatshirt he'd been in earlier, but a dark red towelling robe that came down to his knees.

Athos stared in surprise, but the penny didn't finally drop until Porthos climbed up into a chair on a raised platform in the middle of the room.

 _Christ_ , he thought. Porthos had only said drawing class - he'd thought they'd be sketching a bowl of fruit or something. But he'd meant _life_ drawing class. Not entirely the plums he'd had in mind.

With that, Porthos shrugged off the robe and struck a pose, with a lack of self-consciousness that Athos found staggering. If it had been him, he'd have been trying to hide under the chair. But then, he didn't have Porthos' body. Maybe if he'd been built like some kind of god, he'd feel able to flaunt himself as well.

Athos realised he was staring and hastily looked down, fiddling with his paper. A surreptitious glance around the room suggested everyone else was staring as well to a greater or lesser degree, and he relaxed a bit. There'd been a certain amount of nervous sniggering when Porthos disrobed and even a wolf whistle from one of the girls in the corner, all of which Porthos had weathered good-humouredly.

Athos ran out of things to fidget with, and accepted that sooner or later he was going to have to look up again. That was, after all, the point of being here. He was, for the next couple of hours, entirely allowed - expected even - to stare at the naked body of the most perfect man he'd ever set eyes on.

Feeling the heat rising in his cheeks, he glanced up with all the nonchalance he could muster. Porthos, thankfully, was staring off at a neutral point somewhere on the wall, and the risk of eye contact seemed low. Athos let himself look properly, and felt his blush increasing. Porthos had one foot raised on a draped box, and all his worldly goods were spread out for Athos to see.

He suddenly recalled Porthos saying _you'll be seeing quite a lot of me_ , and a splutter of laughter burst from his lips before he could stop himself. Embarrassed, he hastily cleared his throat and turned it into a cough, although not before Porthos had glanced in his direction. For a brief moment their eyes met, and to Athos' startled amusement, Porthos winked at him.

\--

Once he'd got used to the idea, Athos found he rather enjoyed working on his pencil sketch. Constance moved quietly round the room, giving out advice and encouragement to each of them in turn and he found his old skills came back to him instinctively. He was by no means harbouring a world-shaking talent, but neither was he turning out a stick-figure, and Athos was quietly pleased with the result taking shape. 

By the time they broke for a cup of tea after about an hour he'd captured the basic lines of Porthos' body, and filled in some of the detail of his face and hair. He'd left the area around the crotch vague, still a little embarrassed to be staring at the private parts of a man he'd only just met. Not that Porthos had anything to be embarrassed about, even respectably limp he was quite impressive.

Athos realised he was chewing the end of his pencil reflectively and made a revolted face as he realised it was a school pencil and had probably already been in the mouths of countless small oiks. He'd probably catch typhoid. Or nits.

He accepted a mug of strong tea gratefully, and dropped his coins into the kitty. Still feeling a little self-conscious, like he was an intruder on the class, he hung back from the buzz of conversation but everyone seemed nice enough. After a couple of minutes he sensed a presence at his elbow and looked up, expecting it to be Constance checking her most morose looking student wasn't feeling left out, but to his surprise it was Porthos. 

To spare everyone's blushes he'd put the towelling robe back on, and had a mug of tea in his hand. He nodded affably. "How's it going?"

"Not bad," Athos conceded. "I'm a bit rusty though."

"Let's have a look." Porthos ducked round Athos' easel with a grin, ignoring his yelp of protest.

Athos stood there and chewed his lip, waiting nervously for the verdict. Porthos nodded slowly, giving a pout of appreciation. "Not bad at all. It's recognisably me, for a start." He grinned. "I see I've been sadly emasculated though. Were my nuts too small for you to see 'em?"

Flustered, Athos gave him a sheepish grin. "Hardly. I was afraid I'd run out of pencil, so I left your biggest feature till last."

Porthos threw back his head and gave a roar of laughter, and Athos flushed with pleasure. It had been a long time since he'd made anyone laugh like that. He searched around for something else to say to keep the conversation going. He'd never been good at small talk, but if Porthos wandered off he'd be back to standing here on his own like a prize awkward twit.

"Must be difficult, keeping still like that for so long," Athos ventured. "Don't you get stiff?"

Porthos grinned delightedly, even as Athos winced at his choice of words. "No, Constance throws things at me if I do that."

"Cramp," Athos groaned with embarrassment. "I meant get cramped. Sorry." 

Porthos' grin widened. "I knew what you meant," he laughed. "It's alright. And no, not really, you get used to it. Can start to ache after much more than an hour though, depends on the pose."

"Do you not get bored?" Athos wondered.

"I use it as meditation time," Porthos told him. "It's quite nice. Lets you sort through things in your head, like."

Athos shuddered. "I try and avoid spending too much time alone in my head if I can help it," he muttered. "The company's awful."

Porthos looked surprised, but the tea break was wrapping up and he was chased back to his perch by Constance before he could enquire any further. 

The second hour went by even faster than the first, and by the end of the session Athos had a passable depiction of Porthos down on his sheet of paper. In the end he'd chickened out of trying to attempt an anatomically correct cock and balls and had left the lower half of the body deliberately abstract, concentrating instead on drawing Porthos' features. He was a good looking man but by no means blandly handsome. He had a slight scar over one eye that gave his face an interesting depth, and Athos worked hard to capture it. For this he drew both praise from Constance for his portrait skills and a mild scolding for what she saw as missing the point of the life drawing class.

As they were packing away Constance handed out enrolment forms for the term, and told them all that she hoped the taster session had made them all want to sign up for the full course. Athos was tempted, and had to admit to himself that the lure of Porthos flaunting his naked body every week was a damn sight more appealing than an AA meeting. Choosing one over the other was a risk, but he thought it a manageable one. He'd come here looking for distraction, and he'd certainly found it.

Porthos had ducked back into the supplies cupboard to get dressed, an oddly modest move that struck Athos as funny given that Porthos had spent two hours sitting stark naked in front of a whole classroom full of people. He was still in there when Athos ran out of reasons to dawdle and started making his way out of the building, but by the time he’d reached the foyer Porthos had appeared behind him, fully dressed and beaming.

"So what did you think?" Porthos asked him as he caught up. "Did you enjoy it? Will we see you for the rest of the term?" he sounded hopeful, and Athos wondered briefly if he was on commission, although he hadn't noticed him talking to any of the others like this.

"Thinking about it," Athos admitted. "And yes, I had fun tonight." It was true he realised with slight surprise. The whole time he'd been in the classroom he hadn't thought about needing a drink once.

"Great." Porthos seemed to be genuinely pleased, and Athos smiled at him. Porthos smiled back, holding the door for him as they walked out into the night. 

"So hey, uh - there's a pretty good pub just over the road. Don't suppose you fancy getting a drink do you?" Porthos asked offhandedly.

Athos froze. "Oh. Um, I, er - I can't," he stammered. "Sorry, I - er - " desperately trying to think of an excuse that didn't sound rude. Porthos though, had quickly got the message his invitation wasn't welcome.

"No, no it's fine, no worries. Just a thought." He pulled up the collar of his coat, clearing his throat awkwardly. "See you next week then maybe yeah?" He walked off hurriedly, leaving Athos staring after him feeling miserable. Why did it have to have been a drink he'd offered? 

Feeling suddenly sick, Athos crumpled the enrolment papers in his fist and looked around for a bin. After making his way out of the car park without finding one he shoved them blindly into his coat pocket and trudged dolefully off to the bus stop.

\--

 

When Athos got home to his tiny rented flat he made himself a cup of tea and sat at the table, smoothing out the sketch of Porthos. Not having set out with the intention of attending an art class he hadn't had any kind of folder with him so it was a bit crumpled from having been in his coat. He sighed despondently. The earlier sense of pleasure he'd felt had been thoroughly pricked, although more from his own ham-fisted response than Porthos' offer itself, which had been entirely innocently meant, if unexpected. 

Athos wondered if he should have said yes. He could have had a coke after all. But deep down he knew it had been the right decision, that in his current mental state just being in a pub might have been enough to bring about his downfall.

He wrapped his fingers tightly around the hot ceramic of the mug until it was almost burning him. Don't think about pubs, he told himself sternly. Don't think about drinking.

He studied the drawing critically. It was a passable attempt for someone who hadn't picked up a sketch pad in years, but suddenly he could see all the flaws in it. The urge to tear it to pieces washed over him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the destructive impulse. 

After a moment it faded and he gulped hot tea as a distraction, smoothing out a few more creases with his free hand. Maybe it wasn't so bad as a first attempt, he conceded. If he went back, he'd improve. Giving up at the first hurdle was no good, he'd learnt that much from his experiences if nothing else. Plus, it meant he could see Porthos again. Apologise for the abrupt way he'd turned him down.

Maybe he'd sleep on it.

\--

Over the next few days Athos changed his mind on a roughly hourly basis. He had no friends here, and taking the class would be at least a step in the right direction. Feeling constantly so alone had been one of the hardest parts of his ongoing withdrawal. On the other hand, one of his key reasons for going along to the AA meeting had been to see if he could get a sponsor, and to try and continue on his own without that crucial support would be harder. 

His thoughts went chasing each other round and round in this vein for several days. There was also the cost of the course to consider. Although it wasn't exorbitantly high, he was barely earning enough to cover rent and food, and he would be expected to buy art supplies on top of that. Oddly, it was this that finally convinced him to give it a go. Less money left over at the end of the week meant he'd be less able to buy a bottle of anything likely to end up killing him.

Having found the dog-eared forms still in his coat pocket, Athos duly filled them out and sent them off with a cheque for the course fee. Rather than dreading it, as the day of the class approached he was pleased to discover it gave him a sense of purpose and something to look forward to. He went out and bought proper pencils and a sketchbook, and even made a start practising his drawing.

As the time came to leave for the class though, Athos found himself brimful of nerves. What if Porthos had been offended by being turned down? What if he ignored him? What if - worse - he wasn't there at all?

Athos put his coat on, then took it off again and sat back down. He did this twice more, before growling at himself in frustration and slamming out of the door ten minutes later than he should have, running for the bus before he could change his mind.

By the time he reached the school he was only a few minutes late, and made his way up to the classroom trying to control his spiralling anxiety. He had to pause in the corridor outside, taking deep breaths and telling himself this was ridiculous. It was supposed to be making him feel better, not worse.

There was still the opportunity to change his mind, he reflected. There would be an AA group meeting again tonight in one of the other rooms. He could go there instead. Concede defeat. Give up pretending he could function normally. 

With a hiss of effort Athos pushed himself away from the wall and marched into the classroom.

The smell of the art room was instantly comforting, somehow magically transporting him back to the uncomplicated days of primary school. Athos hesitated just inside the door, relaxing as he saw that the group was still milling about and settling down, and that he wasn't too late. Constance looked up and waved him in with a welcoming smile, and his feet unfroze enough to carry him forward.

As she sorted out his registration forms - more paperwork, it seemed endless - he let himself oh-so-casually scan the rest of the room. Porthos, already in his robe, was talking to a group at the back, but as Athos turned in his direction he looked up and caught his eye, gave him a nod of recognition and a smile. Athos returned the same, feeling relieved that Porthos didn't seem to bear him any ill will.

There was no opportunity to speak to Porthos before they got started, but Athos took his place contentedly enough, only half-listening as Constance ran through the structure of the course. He was seated in a different position today with Porthos was facing away from him, and found that while the view was just as pleasant, without the full-frontal it was also less distracting and he could concentrate on his sketching.

The broad lines of Porthos' back and the curve of his arse gradually took form on Athos' easel, and so wrapped up in it was he that when Constance called a halt for the tea break he was astonished to find that an hour had passed already.

Still too shy to strike up a conversation with any of the other students, Athos had hoped that Porthos would come and talk to him, but he seemed to have been buttonholed by a couple of the others. Athos sipped his tea and considered his classmates. Only one other man had returned for the full course. Athos had thought that they might naturally fall into conversation by virtue of being, with Porthos, the only men in the room, but it seemed he was more interested in pestering Constance for tips.

"You look deep in thought," said a voice next to him. "Considering the mysteries of the universe, or just what to have for dinner?"

Athos turned and found he was being addressed by the woman who was occupying the next easel. She had long blonde hair tied back artfully in a silk scarf and was regarding him with a look of faint amusement. He wondered whether to say he'd been contemplating the mysteries of Porthos' bare arse, and decided against it.

"I'd better keep quiet, or you'll only be disappointed in me," he replied instead, and she laughed, holding out a hand.

"I'm Ninon."

"Athos." They shook, and Athos noticed she had colourful splashes of paint around her wrist. Given they were only sketching in pencil, presumably this meant - or was designed to indicate - that she was a Proper Artist, and was probably hoping he'd ask. So he purposely didn't, and then wondered distantly if this was why he had problems making friends.

"Have you been drawing long?" Ninon asked, craning round to have a look at his half-finished sketch without being invited.

"About fifty minutes," Athos declared, draining his tea and looking innocent. 

Ninon started to explain what she'd meant, then realised he was taking the piss. "Then may I congratulate you on getting the hang of it so quickly," she said dryly. "It's a passion, don't you find?" she went on enthusiastically. "I've been sketching and painting since I was old enough to hold a crayon."

"Your wrist must be getting very tired by now," Athos said gravely, and she gave him an exasperated look, somewhere between annoyance and amusement. It was a look he seemed to remember getting from his teachers at school on a regular basis, and wondered if she would make him go and stand in the corner. "Sorry," he said. "Bad habit. May I see yours?" Not being particularly interested, but sensing she was bursting for him to ask.

He was prepared to make politely impressed noises whatever it looked like, but Ninon's sketch was genuinely very good. Far better than his in fact, with a confidence in its bold strokes that made his own look entirely too careful and hesitant. 

Athos duly showered her with praise and slipped away as soon as he could to wash out his mug, feeling rather depressed. Was he kidding himself doing this? What if he was actually awful at it?

"I see Leonardo Larroque's been giving you the benefit of her wisdom," said a low voice in his ear, and Athos looked up in surprise to find Porthos had materialised at his shoulder.

"Um," he said, brain refusing to cooperate, and Porthos grinned at him.

"Don't let her put you off. She's been coming for years. Claims it's because she likes the time set aside each week to concentrate on her art, but I reckon it's mostly because it lets her be smug about the fact she's better than everyone else who's just starting out." Porthos abruptly remembered he knew next to nothing about Athos and looked panicky. "I mean - er - she's not a friend of yours or anything is she?"

Athos shook his head. "No. We just met. I don't think I made a very good first impression though."

Porthos looked relieved. "Huh. Made a decent enough one on me," he muttered, but then walked off before Athos could form a reply. 

There was a certain amount of quiet chatter during the classes, but to Athos' relief Ninon didn't try and engage him in conversation again when he returned to his easel. He concentrated firmly on his drawing, not catching anybody's eye, and tried to infuse his lines with a looser and more expressive style. It didn't really work, and the end result was something of a mess. Athos glared at the paper irritably, unclipping it and folding it away before anyone could see it, or Constance tried to give him any well-meaning advice.

In a bad mood, he walked out without remembering he'd meant to find and apologise properly to Porthos, and was at the main doors downstairs before it came back to him.

"Bollocks." 

"Where?" 

Athos turned and discovered Porthos had once again caught up with him. He gave him an embarrassed smile. "Uh - sorry. Just remembered something." Before he could continue, Porthos got in first.

"Look, um, a group of us are going over for a drink," Porthos said. "If you fancied joining us?"

Athos mentally banged his head against a wall. "Oh - I'd love to, but - I can't," he said. "I'm sorry. Really, thank you for the offer but, ah - I have to get back."

Porthos nodded philosophically. "Fair enough. Another time, maybe?"

"Yeah. That'd be good," Athos agreed weakly, and watched Porthos walk out into the car park to join the knot of people waiting for him. 

_Great,_ Athos thought. _Now he probably thinks you're bloody married._

\--

Athos spent most of the following week trying to decide if he felt strong enough to go into a pub and withstand temptation. He realised there was a good chance that after two refusals Porthos simply wouldn't bother asking him again, but in case he did, Athos wanted to be able to say yes. 

For a long time he hadn't been in a good place, and when he'd first tried staying off the drink, it had been the lure of the pubs and the daytime drinking camaraderie they offered that had been his downfall over and over again. It had been one of the reasons for moving towns, there were no familiar drinking dens here that he could stroll into and fall into easy conversation. But this drastic measure had also left him lonely, and Porthos was the first person he'd met who'd extended the hand of friendship.

Athos pondered the question of whether it was more than that. Had the second offer of a group drink been Porthos assuming his first refusal had stemmed from not wanting to be alone with him, or had Athos assumed wrongly that the first offer had been meant as a date of sorts? 

He'd rather got the impression that Porthos had been flirting with him, but on the other hand Athos couldn't imagine why anyone would want to do such a thing, so maybe Porthos was just like that with everyone. Certainly, if he discovered Athos' problem he would be unlikely to want anything further to do with him - and therein lay the issue, Athos thought. Because while he might be able to face going into a bar and not drinking, it would almost certainly require whoever he was with knowing that he couldn't, and not offering any or cajoling him to do so. 

By the time the next class came around Athos still hadn't quite made up his mind how he would react - but in the event the problem didn't arise, for the simple fact Porthos wasn't there. 

Athos hadn't noticed anything amiss at first, as he settled at an easel a safe distance from Ninon, and next to the only other male student, whose name he finally learned tonight was d'Artagnan. Porthos wasn't in the room, but he'd assumed he was in the back getting changed - except when the door opened, it wasn't Porthos who stepped out, but a woman he'd never seen before.

As she took her place on the central podium, Constance introduced her as Suzette, and she shed her robe with a flourish and a smile. 

Next to him, Athos could see d'Artagnan's eyes were on stalks, and he laughed inwardly. His initial reaction to Porthos had been much the same, although he hoped not quite so obvious.

D'Artagnan caught his eye, and cleared his throat sheepishly with a smirk. "That's more like it, eh?" he said in a low voice, clearly hoping for some male bonding validation.

"Actually I'd rather look at Porthos to be honest," Athos told him, and d'Artagnan did a double take.

"Oh. Right." He gave Athos a dubious look, then shrugged. "Each to their own I s'pose."

Athos nodded, and to his relief d'Artagnan let the matter drop, although continued to chat freely to him throughout the first half of the session. When they broke for tea Athos found a chance to have a quiet word with Constance.

"No Porthos tonight?" he murmured, hoping she hadn't overheard his words to d'Artagnan earlier and would think he was only here to perve. But he was also concerned that Porthos might be ill, or have got a better offer. The classes would be a lot less appealing without his presence to look forward to.

Constance, to his relief, just laughed. "We have to teach you both types of anatomy remember. Porthos and Suzette tend to alternate a couple of weeks each."

"Oh, right, okay." Athos had the feeling if he'd paid attention at the start he'd probably have known this, but he'd been too busy contemplating an anatomy lesson of his own.

While Athos wasn't uninterested in women, the blonde and blowsy Suzette definitely wasn't his type and by the end of the class he had to admit that the drawing he'd produced was a lot better than the first two had been. Lack of distraction had its advantages, and even Constance remarked on his progress.

It was a bittersweet sense of success, and Athos would gladly have traded the praise for a smile from Porthos. It was tragic, he mused on the way home, how much he was already coming to depend on seeing the man, just to get him through the week. If it wasn't dependency on one thing it was another he realised, wondering if he'd ever be able to function without some kind of emotional prop.

Still, he'd just have to cope, for a while at least. Presumably Suzette would be there for the next class as well, which meant two weeks before he could see Porthos again. It felt like a very long time.

\--

As it happened, it wasn't as long as he'd expected. On Saturday Athos was standing in the queue at the supermarket, basket filled with a stack of depressing ready meals for one and lost in his own thoughts, when a voice in front of him said "Hullo?"

He looked up and blinked to find Porthos standing in front of him, grinning. "Oh. Hello! Sorry, miles away." 

"Thought it was you. How's it going?" Porthos was loading a heap of fresh salad and vegetables onto the till and Athos was faintly amused that his guess about Porthos' healthy living had been correct. Although there was also a bottle of wine, that Athos quickly averted his eyes from.

"Oh, not so bad. Just stocking up, you know?" Athos felt Porthos' eyes on the contents of his basket and cringed a little. Still at least it would probably put paid to any suggestion that he might have been married.

"Up to much this afternoon?" Porthos asked idly, paying for his shopping and then lingering while Athos dealt with his.

"No, not a lot. Bit of sketching maybe." Athos winced inwardly. It was the truth, but he was afraid it had come out sounding a bit teacher's pet. Porthos though, was more intent on the suggestion he didn't have anything to rush off for.

"So - don't suppose you fancy going for a drink? If you're not busy like?"

Athos hesitated, seeing the trap he'd just walked into and trying to muster his thoughts. Porthos though took his silence for reluctance and held up an apologetic hand.

"Sorry, you're not interested are you, I'll stop pestering you."

"No!" Athos yelped. "I mean - um - it's just a bit early for me, that's all," he stammered, cursing himself for the lie that tripped easily off his lips. "Make it a coffee and you're on."

Porthos looked at him assessingly. "You sure? I really don't want to be a pain. If you're not up for it you can say no. I won't be offended."

Athos gathered up his carrier bags and shook his head firmly. "I'm up for it," he declared. "My treat, and all. To apologise for the fact I keep blowing you off. If you'll pardon the expression."

Porthos gave an appreciatively dirty snigger and lead Athos out of the shop and down the road to a cafe, where they settled in a window seat with a couple of coffees.

"I hope I've not been a nuisance," Porthos said. "I couldn't quite tell if you were desperately trying to shake me off, or genuinely always in a hurry."

"Sorry," Athos sighed. "I promise I wasn't trying to get rid of you. I just - needed to get the last bus," he said, then frowned at himself. What he really needed to do was tell Porthos the truth, or at least part of it. Instead he was weaving himself a net of lies, none of which were designed to stop Porthos offering him alcohol any time soon. But he flinched away from the thought of having to explain himself, and the knowledge lying heavy in his stomach that Porthos would almost certainly lose interest in him if he found out he was a drunk. An addict. A loser.

"You okay?" Porthos asked, studying the troubled expression on Athos' face as he continued to stir in a spoonful of sugar that must have dissolved several minutes ago.

Athos looked up, and gave him an apologetic smile, realising he'd missed what Porthos had said. "Yes. Sorry, what?"

Porthos took a sip of his own coffee and licked cappuccino froth from his moustache. He raised his eyebrows enquiringly at Athos, who indicated on the corner of his own mouth where Porthos had missed a bit, and he laughed, wiping it with his hand.

"These things are a menace. I should have copied you," Porthos said, nodding at Athos' own cup of black filter coffee. "I like 'em though. Can't be good all the time, eh?"

"Well, no." Athos smiled at him. He'd been afraid this would be painfully awkward but Porthos was a very comfortable person to be with, and to his surprise he found himself relaxing. 

"So I was saying," Porthos resumed. "Being nosy really. You married?"

"No." Athos shook his head. "It's just me." Then, in the spirit of trying to inject at least a little honesty into proceedings, he added, "Divorced, actually."

"Oh. Right." Porthos looked a bit taken aback, then ventured, "Uh, from a man or a woman?"

Athos looked amused, feeling that that answered the question of whether Porthos was just being friendly or actually flirting.

"A woman," he admitted. "But I'm - ah - I like both." He could feel himself blushing, but Porthos nodded immediately.

"Right. Gotcha." He smiled at Athos over the top of his cup. "Good."

Athos blushed harder than ever, and changed the subject hurriedly. "So what do you do, when you're not posing for Constance?"

"Landscape gardener," Porthos told him. "Which round here mostly means glorified hedge-trimmer. What about you?"

"I, er, work for a mail-order company," Athos said. It was true, technically. He worked in the warehouse, packing boxes for dispatch. 

Porthos nodded. "What made you join the art class?" he asked, and Athos smiled, thinking that the answer to that was sitting in front of him.

"I guess I was looking to make a few friends," he said. "I moved here not long ago. I don't really know anyone."

"Fresh start, huh?" Porthos asked, and Athos looked startled. "After the divorce, I mean."

"Oh. Right. Yes, maybe," Athos said. "That was a couple of years ago now though."

"Brave step," said Porthos. "Leap into the unknown, like."

"I hadn't thought of it like that," Athos admitted. "I was more afraid I was running away."

"No shame in a tactical retreat," Porthos said, and gave him a smile so warm and understanding that Athos had the unreasonable urge to crawl into his arms and start sobbing his heart out. 

He sat back, clearing his throat and imagining how horrified Porthos would be if he did that. Was he kidding himself with this, Athos wondered. It wasn't like it could go anywhere. All he could ever be for Porthos was a sore disappointment once he found out the truth. But it had been a long time since anyone had made him feel warm and safe just by their presence, and he knew that however selfish it was, he couldn't give it up quite yet.

They talked easily of inconsequential things for some time, Porthos fetching them another couple of coffees in due course.

"So how did you get on with Suzette?" Porthos asked with a grin.

"I think d'Artagnan liked her rather better than me," Athos said, and when Porthos looked questioning, mimed long hair.

"Oh, right, him." Porthos laughed. "I thought he was only there to gaze adoringly at Constance. She'll get jealous if she has to share his affections."

"I'm sure he's just there to learn like the rest of us," Athos said, and Porthos cackled.

"Have you seen his artwork? It's shocking. No, he'd definitely there for the - shall we say the social element of it?"

Athos, who was there for much the same reason, felt a little defensive of the lad. "I'm sure he's not that bad. I'm not exactly great, if it comes to that."

"You're pretty good," Porthos said immediately, and Athos felt warmer than ever.

"Suzette not for you then?" Porthos asked craftily. "Won't be fighting d'Artagnan over her charms?"

"I prefer yours, if I'm honest," Athos admitted under his breath, and Porthos looked delighted.

"Then how about we get that drink now?" Porthos asked. "Waste the afternoon together? I know a great wine bar." 

Athos shook his head reluctantly. "I'd love to, but I have to get back before a week's worth of processed microwave meals of dubious nutritional content defrosts completely."

"Alright." Porthos considered. "Then would you let me buy you dinner?"

Athos looked surprised. "What - really?"

"Yeah. Really." Porthos gave a quiet laugh. "I've been trying to be subtle but you seem impervious, so I figure to hell with it, go for the formal date invitation. Will you have dinner with me, Athos?"

"I, er - well. Yes. Alright. Why not?" 

"You will?" 

Athos nodded. "What did you have in mind?"

Porthos gave an embarrassed laugh. "I hadn't got as far as an actual plan. I didn't expect you to say yes, to be honest. I'm glad you did!" he added hurriedly. "Let's think - d'you like Italian?"

"Yes, who doesn't?"

"Okay, there's a place just down from here, Da Vinci's - bit cheap and cheerful, but the food's good. How about that?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Great. Meet you there at eight?"

Athos nodded, feeling a little dazed. A date. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been on one. He felt rather queasily nervous, but Porthos was good company and so far they hadn't struggled for conversation. It would be fine. He could do this. 

Almost certainly. 

\--

Athos was glad he only had a few hours in which to fret. He was starting to debate the wisdom of having said yes at all, but the idea that Porthos actually liked him was too seductively flattering to ignore. Athos' self-esteem had been at rock bottom for a long while, and as he showered and carefully trimmed his beard it occurred to him that maybe this was what he'd needed. 

He spent most of his time these days looking barely one step up from a tramp, but having someone else to neaten himself up for was making him take a little pride in his appearance for once. The face that looked back at him out of the mirror now was one that he hadn't seen for months, and it gave him a tentative confidence. Enough, at least, to get him over the last minute wave of paralysing fear and out of the flat.

Not wanting to be late Athos arrived at the restaurant much too early, but to his surprise found Porthos already waiting for him outside.

"Evening." Porthos gave him a broad smile with more than a little relief in it, and Athos realised he'd been worried he wouldn't turn up.

"Hello." Athos smiled back, suddenly feeling ridiculously shy, but Porthos held the door open for him and he found himself ushered inside. 

The restaurant wasn't crowded but there were enough customers to give it a friendly buzz, and as they took their seats Athos thought it had been a good choice. Not stuffily up-market or awkwardly expensive, but clean and cheerful and full of appetising smells.

"Did you want to share a bottle of wine?" Porthos asked as they picked up the menus, and Athos felt his stomach dissolve into a mass of snakes. This was the point he needed to come clean, he thought. At least tell the man you don't drink, you don't have to tell him why. 

"Uh, do you mind if I don't? I'm driving," Athos heard himself add, much to his own disgust.

"You could have a small one?" Porthos suggested. "We are eating."

"Better not," Athos said, and was relieved when Porthos didn't press the point. 

"Okay, guess I'll just have a glass then," Porthos said with a shrug, and went back to studying the menu.

Athos chided himself for being a miserable coward. He liked Porthos, he liked him a lot, and all he seemed to be doing was lying to him. Little lies, admittedly, but the more he told the harder it was to undo them. If only he wasn't so ashamed of the truth. Objectively he knew there wasn't any reason for Porthos to scorn him for it - yes he had a problem, but he was dealing with it. The trouble was he could only see himself through the layers of self-loathing that had built up around him, and had a hard time believing anyone else might see him differently.

As the evening went on though, Athos started to enjoy himself. Porthos had been right, the food was good here, and although Porthos had ordered himself a second glass of wine he hadn't made anything of it when Athos asked for another coke. 

"This is the sort of food you should be eating," Porthos said at one point, gesturing at Athos with a forkful of seafood pasta with roasted vegetables. "None of that instant muck. You'd have nightmares for a week if I told you how much sugar and salt was in one of those things."

"That's easy for you to say," Athos objected. "I'd probably end up poisoning myself. Besides, that organic shit you were buying is hideously expensive. I can't afford to live on rabbit food at that price."

Porthos conceded the point with a shrug. "It's not all that bad though. I betcha I could come up with a decent menu for you for the same price as those ready meals."

"You should have your own tv series," Athos said acidly. "Porthos' Patronising Pantry."

Porthos spluttered with laughter, and Athos grinned at him. It was a liberating feeling to discover you could argue with someone in good humour, with neither taking offence.

"I could always teach you?" Porthos ventured after a while.

"To be condescending?" Athos asked innocently, and Porthos kicked him under the table.

"To cook. If you wanted, I mean. Not cheffy stuff, just the basics like."

Athos was startled. "Do you mean that?"

"Yeah. Why not? Could be fun." Porthos looked hopeful, and Athos found himself smiling. It _might_ be fun, he thought. It would certainly mean them spending a lot of time together.

"I don't really have any pans or anything," Athos admitted.

"Come round to mine then. I've got enough to open an ironmongery," Porthos laughed. "Makes sense to get the hang of it before forking out on anything too. You don't need much, to be honest. A decent pan, and a couple of saucepans'll see you through most things."

"You're very kind," Athos said, and meant it. Porthos smiled at him.

"And trusting," Porthos teased. "I mean, you might be an axe murderer, and here am I inviting you into my home." 

"Oh I'm far more likely to end up poisoning you at this rate," Athos smiled. "You'd better make me taste everything first, for your own safety."

The rest of the meal passed in companionable chatter, and as they got up to leave Athos realised they'd been there for three hours. Porthos insisted on paying the bill as it had been his invitation, and Athos gave in gracefully, making noises about getting the next one. In truth he was a little relieved; he had the money but it would have left him rather short for the rest of the week - no spontaneous coffees, or buying breakfast on the way in to work.

As they stepped outside, another worry raised its head. What if Porthos wanted to kiss him goodnight? Ordinarily Athos would have liked nothing better, in fact had spent an embarrassing amount of private time over the last couple of weeks imagining exactly that - but by now Porthos had had three glasses of wine, and Athos suspected that nothing was calculated to make him want a drink quite as sharply as being French-kissed by a boozy Porthos.

"So. Um." Porthos shuffled his feet, looking more uncertain than he had all evening. "Did you want to - "

"I have to get back," Athos said apologetically, and Porthos sighed.

"Course you do. See you again, though, yeah?"

"Yes." Athos nodded. "I had a lovely time tonight. Thank you." 

Porthos smiled at him, looking a little more hopeful and leaned in for what was clearly intended to be a peck on the lips. Athos turned his head at the last second and the kiss landed on his cheek instead. He brushed his own lips against Porthos' bearded jaw, and stepped back, rigid with embarrassment. 

"I'm sorry, I have to go, that's my bus," Athos stammered quickly, looking round.

"Oh. Right. Uh - see you at class, then?" Porthos called after him, rather startled as Athos turned and ran straight across the road to where a double decker was just pulling into the bus stop.

"Yeah, see you then," Athos called back with a wave, and jumped onto the bus.

Porthos watched it drive away, looking distinctly puzzled. 

"I thought you said you were driving?" he muttered to himself, as it also dawned on him that he'd completely failed to ask Athos for his number and had no way of getting hold of him.

\--


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Athos got home he was about ready to curl up and die. What must Porthos have thought of him? At best it must have looked like he'd jumped on the first bus to come along in a fit of gay panic. At worst - well. Tease out the lie about the fact he'd not driven there at all, and how many others unravelled in its wake?

He wondered dismally if Porthos would let him apologise, then realised he had no way of contacting him. He knew he lived locally, but no more than that. Didn't even know his surname, Athos realised. They'd agreed to swap numbers, but hadn't actually got round to it before Athos had performed his disappearing trick.

Why the hell had he run away? It wasn't as if there wouldn't have been another bus along in fifteen minutes or so. He'd just seen the illuminated number and somehow it had fed into his stuttering brain that he had to get on it. And now Porthos must think he was a freak that wasn't worth his time, and be glad to see the back of him.

Could he salvage things, Athos wondered? Porthos had said he'd see him at class, but it dawned on him now that Porthos wasn't due to be there, it would surely be Suzette again. He went to bed feeling stupid and humiliated, the large meal he'd eaten promptly keeping him awake for hours with indigestion because his stomach was in such knots. 

He wondered if Porthos was lying awake somewhere thinking of him, and what he made of it all. Probably Porthos had dismissed him utterly from his mind, Athos thought miserably. He couldn't blame him. He wasn't worth a second thought.

\--

Sure enough at the class the following week Suzette was the model again, and Athos produced a desultory drawing that Constance tried to be kind about but was clearly struggling for positives. Athos didn't care. He didn't care about anything any more, had more than half made up his mind that this would be his last class. Better he spare both of them the embarrassment of turning up next week.

As he trudged out of the main entrance into the darkened car park Athos was vaguely conscious of someone looming up behind him, but kept his eyes on the path. If someone wanted to mug him they'd be out of luck, all he had on him was his bus fare and a badly drawn picture of some tits.

"Oi. Athos."

His name, called quietly so as not to make him jump was finally enough to get his attention and Athos looked round in astonishment.

"Porthos?"

Porthos grinned at him. "Hoped you'd be here. Figured it was the only place I could catch you."

"I - " Athos faltered, thrown both by the fact that Porthos had sought him out, and that he was smiling.

"Wondered if you fancied a coffee?" Porthos said quietly.

Athos, who'd opened his mouth to turn down the expected offer of a drink, hesitated in surprise. "None of the cafes will be open this time of night?"

"Thought we could go to my place," Porthos said. "It's not far." He held up his hands. "No funny business, I promise. Just a coffee."

Athos looked at him for a long moment, then sighed, nodding slowly. "Yes, alright. I guess I owe you some explanations," he said resignedly.

Porthos shook his head. "You don't owe me anything," he said. "Except maybe your phone number?"

Athos smiled at him in surprise, and Porthos smiled back. "Come on," he said, and slipped his arm through Athos'. "It's just round the corner."

It turned out Porthos lived in a Victorian terraced house that he said had been his grandmother's. He'd never known her, he explained to Athos as he lead him through to the kitchen, and the inheritance had come as a complete surprise. 

"But not having to make rent finally meant I had enough cashflow to get my own business off the ground," Porthos told him, switching on the kettle. "I don't make a huge amount, but it covers the bills and I like being my own boss. The modelling fee just gives me a bit extra to play with in the autumn term." 

Athos settled at the scrubbed wooden table and gratefully accepted the mug of black coffee Porthos handed him, stirring in brown sugar from the pot Porthos took down from a shelf.

"I owe you an apology," Athos said quietly. "For ditching you like I did."

Porthos shook his head. "I was trying to work out what I'd done wrong," he said. "And call me slow on the uptake, but I guess I finally figured it out. You don't drink, do you? Like, at all?"

Athos shook his head, and Porthos nodded gloomily. "Why didn't you say something you prat?" he said kindly. "Why'd you let me keep pestering you like that?"

"I don't know," Athos admitted. "I suppose I didn't want you to think I was boring."

Porthos snorted. "Hardly the end of the world. Loads of people don't drink. What is it, a medical thing? Or religious?" 

Athos looked down at his hands and took a deep breath. He was supposed to be able to say this, wasn't he. He'd worked at saying this, to groups of strangers. Saying it to someone he liked and trusted should be easier.

"It's not so much that I don't drink - more that I can't," he said carefully. "I have - a problem, with it. With alcohol. I can't ever have it. Not any more."

Athos risked a look up, terrified of seeing disgust or pity on Porthos' face. What he saw was more a look of horror.

"Oh fucking hell," Porthos said hoarsely as the light dawned. "You weren't there for the art class at all that day, were you? You were there for the AA meeting."

Athos nodded awkwardly, and Porthos groaned. "Shit. Why didn't you say?"

"Too ashamed I suppose," Athos whispered, and to his surprise Porthos reached across the table and took his hand. 

"Tell me I haven't fucked up your programme or anything?" Porthos pleaded.

"No." Athos shook his head. "Mostly I was there looking for a distraction. Actually, the art class has been exactly what I needed. Made me think about something else for a change, instead of just feeling sorry for myself."

"Not helped by me keeping on at you to have a drink," Porthos sighed. "Sorry."

"You weren't to know." Athos smiled at him. "I should have told you, but once I'd skirted the issue it just kept getting harder every time."

"How long have you been dry?"

"Six months."

"Yeah? Well done."

"Thank you," Athos said, just as Porthos winced.

"Sorry, that sounded incredibly condescending," he said. "It wasn't meant to."

Athos shook his head. "No it didn't. Trust me, I'll take all the encouragement I can get."

"Is it hard?" Porthos asked softly, and Athos nodded.

"Incredibly. Every day, is just - a battle," Athos admitted. "The hardest part is knowing how much better I would feel if I gave in and had one. At least for a while."

Porthos squeezed his hand. "Sounds like you should maybe go to the group after all?" he suggested. 

"Tell you the truth I've been wondering the same thing." Athos sighed. "I was hoping I could meet someone willing to sponsor me."

"That's like, someone who helps you through it, right?" Porthos asked. "Someone you can call for help and stuff?"

"Yes, that's right." Athos played with his coffee spoon, twisting it slowly between his fingers. "Someone to talk you down when you think you're about to lapse. Someone to convince you it gets better."

Porthos nodded solemnly. "Could I do it?" he asked.

Athos looked up, shocked. "You?"

"Yeah. Why not? I work for meself, nobody's going to complain if I need to rush off at odd hours. And - well, I'd like to help. Especially after nearly chucking a spanner in the works like I have."

Athos smiled at him, but shook his head. "It should really be someone who's already gone through it," he explained. "Someone who's further on than you are with recovery. Who understands what you're going through because they've been there themselves. Also - " he hesitated. "It's not supposed to be someone you're attracted to," Athos admitted, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks.

"In case it goes tits up and leaves you feeling worse than ever?" Porthos guessed, and nodded. "Fair enough. I get where you're coming from. But - well I suppose what I'm saying is the offer's still there. Get yourself a proper one, I support that, all the way. But in case you can't, or until you do? I'm here, okay? If you need me."

To his shame Athos felt his lips start to tremble, and he gulped at his lukewarm coffee to disguise it.

"Thank you," he managed. "I appreciate it. I didn't think you'd want anything more to do with me."

Porthos frowned, and shook his head. "Why wouldn't I?" He fetched a scrap of paper and tore it in two, wrote his phone number on one half. "Here. Now yours."

Athos wrote his own on the other and Porthos tucked it safely into his pocket. 

"Good. Want another coffee?"

Athos nodded, and Porthos grinned happily at him, refilling the kettle. When they were ready, Porthos cocked his head. "Want to move into the living room? Might be a bit more comfortable?"

Athos agreed and followed him back down the hall into a room that was full of plants and books and mismatched junk shop furniture.

"It's a bit scruffy," Porthos said apologetically, seeing it suddenly through new eyes, but Athos shook his head.

"It's very homely," he said, comparing it to his own sparse bedsit with its rented furniture and mysterious inherited stains on the carpet. "I like it."

They sat next to each other on the sofa, and Porthos leaned back and smiled at him.

"As we seem to be better at doing things formally," he said, "and for the avoidance of doubt - will you go out with me?"

Athos blinked at him. "You - still want to?" He'd been grateful for Porthos' offer of friendship and support but had never imagined that he might still be interested in dating him. 

"Yes," Porthos agreed, looking amused at Athos' bewilderment.

"Why?" Athos asked before he could stop himself. "Whatever do you see in me?"

"Plenty," said Porthos gently, seeing that Athos really didn't understand. He stroked the back of a finger over Athos' cheek. "Do you like me?"

"Yes. Of course," Athos blurted, and Porthos was smiling at him again.

"Then that's all you need to worry about, isn't it?"

Athos looked away, then made himself turn back again. "It won't be easy," he said in a low voice. "I won't be easy. I need you to know that."

Porthos nodded. "Fair enough," he said quietly, still stroking Athos' face with his finger, moth-light.

Athos took a nervous breath. "Can we - take things slowly?" he asked awkwardly. However much he was attracted to Porthos, there were too many reasons why falling straight into bed with him would be a bad idea.

"Of course." Porthos nodded gravely, then smiled. "Is that a yes, then?"

Athos gave the tiniest of nods. "Yes," he breathed. "Yes."

Porthos' smile broke into a grin and he gave Athos a one-armed hug of delight. Slowly, Athos started smiling too, amazed at what he'd just agreed to.

"Can I kiss you?" Porthos murmured. "I promise I've only had coffee all day. I don't mind if it's no," he added quickly. "Just tell me if I'm pushing too hard."

"No, it's okay," Athos said, heart suddenly pounding fast in his chest. "I - I'd like that."

Porthos leaned in slowly and Athos' breath hitched as a warm mouth settled over his own. He moved forward instinctively, his lips parting under the gentle pressure of Porthos' and they kissed each other slowly, deeply and softly. 

When Porthos pulled back Athos was breathing hard but gazing at him in something like confused wonder, and Porthos winked at him. "Okay?" Porthos smiled.

Athos nodded. "Okay," he agreed, and as Porthos pulled him into a hug he started to let himself think that despite the odds maybe it would be after all. 

\--

Over the next couple of weeks, Athos and Porthos spent nearly every evening together. Their first dates were spent going to the cinema, dining out, or at a lounge bar Porthos had found that opened late and was full of hipster students drinking coffee instead of alcohol. After a few nights of this however Porthos finally teased out of Athos that he didn't have a lot of money to waste, and after that somehow they spent all their free time at Porthos' house instead. 

True to his word Porthos started teaching Athos to cook, refusing to accept any contribution towards the cost of the ingredients and declaring it was just as easy to cook for two as for one. Whilst Athos had spent most of the first week convinced Porthos would come to his senses at any moment and run for the hills, by the end of the second he was cautiously starting to accept that for some peculiar reason Porthos actually liked him. 

Athos had become comfortably familiar with being in Porthos' house by now too, and thoroughly enjoyed perching on a stool in the kitchen to watch him prep and cook their dinner. He preferred watching to participating if he was honest, although he'd managed not to cut off anything vital the few times Porthos had made him chop something. 

So far he hadn't invited Porthos back to his bedsit, too embarrassed by its peeling walls and cramped dimensions. He'd admitted this freely enough when Porthos first suggested they go there, but even though Porthos had promised he wouldn't mind or care, Athos had still clearly been uncomfortable, and Porthos had dropped the matter. 

The first art class Athos attended after they'd started dating was a surreal experience. Conscious of his request to take things slowly, Porthos had behaved like a perfect gentleman - all they'd done together so far was kiss each other, so for Athos to sit there staring at his naked body all evening felt very strange. 

At the same time, to harbour the knowledge that he could theoretically have a private show whenever he wanted was faintly amusing. It was like a secret inner warmth, knowing that the gorgeous specimen sitting naked in the middle of the class was a man who liked him, who kissed him on a regular basis, who with any luck would be kissing him again in a very short space of time from now...Athos had forced his mind back onto the picture at hand and tried not to smile too obviously.

\--

Two weeks had gone by, and they were once more ensconced in Porthos' kitchen, blinds drawn against the dark evening. Porthos was making a bolognese sauce and doing his best Gordon Ramsay impression while Athos heckled from the sidelines, at the same time taking careful note of everything Porthos did.

"Fetch us the gravy granules would you?" Porthos asked. "They're in that cupboard."

Athos grinned. "Never get a Michelin star using gravy granules, you know." He opened the indicated cupboard and scanned the shelves for the offending item as Porthos retorted something rude about the palate of any man who ate ready meals on a regular basis.

Having found what he wanted, Athos was about to close the door again when his eyes lit on a bottle of wine tucked away on the top shelf. He frowned. It looked like the bottle Porthos had bought that first day in the supermarket, and Athos wondered if it was the same one, that he'd never had a chance to drink.

"Did you find it?" Porthos came up behind him and slid an arm round his waist, before following Athos' gaze and wincing. "Oh crap, sorry. Would you rather I got rid of that?"

Athos looked at him in surprise. "No. God, no, you don't have to do that. I'm sorry, I've only just realised how much I must be restricting you. Have you even had a drink these last couple of weeks? You can if you want, I don't mind."

Porthos shook his head. "If I drink I can't kiss you," he said with a smile. "And of the two activities, I know what I'd rather be doing." He pulled Athos in closer and proved his point, kissing him softly and deeply until Athos nudged him and pointed out his mince was burning.

"Bollocks!" Porthos dashed back to his pan to rescue the dinner, and Athos followed him, smiling.

"I don't want to be a pain," Athos ventured, still worried that Porthos might be finding this more of a trial than he was letting on. "You could always have one when I've gone." 

Porthos shook his head again. "It's good for me. I'm losing weight. You're making me healthier," he insisted with a grin. Privately he reflected that he couldn't drink after Athos had gone, in case Athos should suddenly need him. Having offered his services, Porthos didn't want to be caught out and unable to drive.

That thought triggered another one, and he turned back to Athos. "Do you drive?" he asked curiously. Porthos had just naturally assumed he did, particularly after Athos had claimed to be driving the night of their first date, but that hadn't been true, and he now realised Athos got buses everywhere.

Athos looked sheepish. "I can, in the technical sense," he said. "I'm just - not allowed to. Not for another six months," he admitted quietly.

Porthos stared at him, taking in the implication of his words and also the tightness of Athos' expression, and realised what such an admission had probably cost him.

"I'm sorry," Porthos said carefully. "What happened?" he added with a wince, wondering if he shouldn’t ask. To his relief, Athos seemed more embarrassed than upset.

"Oh, God, nothing awful," Athos said hastily. "No, nothing like that. I just got pulled over. 'Driving erratically', apparently. I, um, failed the breathalyser. Three times over the limit." He stared at the floor, too ashamed to meet Porthos' gaze.

"Oh Athos."

"I know, I know. And I know I was lucky. In more ways than one - they could have banged me up, but as no one else was involved they just took away my license and made me go on this course."

"The video nasties?" Porthos guessed, and Athos nodded.

"Brought home to me exactly what I could have done to someone else," Athos sighed. "In a way it was a good thing, it was what finally made me stay on the wagon. I'd been trying to get sober before that, but I never lasted more than a couple of days. I think a week had been my best run. That was six months ago now, and I've not touched a drop since."

"Then I'm proud of you," Porthos said quietly, and gave him a gentle hug. There was something about Athos that felt terribly fragile at times, despite the fact he was a reasonably well built bloke, and older than Porthos. 

Athos hugged him back, burying his face in Porthos' shoulder. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"What for?"

"Being a complete loser."

"You're not." Porthos took him by the arms and looked at him. "Yeah, you've got a problem, but you're doing something about it, you're facing it down, and you're making a go of it. That means you're not a loser, okay?"

"Okay," Athos said dubiously, and Porthos kissed him on the forehead.

"It's not everyone who has the balls to face their demons," Porthos said quietly. "I can't imagine what it's like, what you're doing, but I want you to know I think you're amazing for doing it. And that I'm here for you, if you need me."

Athos looked shaken. "Thank you," he managed. "You're so incredibly kind, and you hardly even know me."

Porthos grinned, going back to his pan. "Honestly? I fancied you from the minute I set eyes on you. I never really thought you were headed for the drawing class, but I thought I'd try me luck. I was so chuffed when you said you were, you have no idea. And trust me Athos, nothing I have learnt about you since has put me off you one little bit."

Athos went red, then frowned. "What class did you think I was going to then?"

"I dunno. Accountancy for beginners or something maybe?" Porthos suggested with a wicked smile, and Athos looked indignant. 

"Accountancy? That's worse than bloody AA," he laughed.

Porthos pulled him back into his arms. "Well you can check out my figures any day," he grinned. "Vital statistics, the lot. I'll even spread my sheets for you."

Athos groaned at the joke, but looked a little worried again. "Are you sure you don't mind that we're not - you know?" he asked awkwardly.

Porthos snorted. "Athos, for the record I would dearly love to 'you know' you into the mattress, but unless that's what you want too, then it ain't going to happen. And that's okay, okay?"

"Okay," Athos echoed, with a faint smile. "As long as it is." 

"Cross my heart," said Porthos. "I like you, yeah? I like being with you. I like kissing you. Sex isn't everything."

Athos sighed, but it was a sound of relief and Porthos held him tight. "I promised you we could take this slow, and I meant it," Porthos whispered. "I don't want you to feel pressured, about anything. I'm guessing that wouldn't be a good thing?"

"Not really," Athos admitted ruefully. "And - thank you." 

Porthos kissed him briskly then turned Athos in his arms until he was facing the stove and put the wooden spoon in his hand.

"Right," said Porthos, keeping his arms wrapped around Athos' waist from behind. "If instruction in the bedroom's out, instruction in the kitchen it is. First, take your gravy granules..."

Athos spluttered with laughter, and hit him with the spoon.

\--

Athos was supposed to be happy. He told himself this in varying degrees of sternness whenever he caught himself feeling less than positive; the trouble was that seemed to be an increasing amount of the time. 

Somehow, against all the odds, he'd acquired a stunningly attractive boyfriend with the patience of a saint and that should have been - was - a very good thing. Except that Athos couldn't help feeling he didn't deserve it, and found he was constantly braced for things to go wrong. And then there was the question of sex. Regardless of Porthos' reassurances on the matter Athos was certain he'd get bored of waiting eventually. 

Porthos kept encouraging him to be open about stuff, to talk through anything that was worrying him, and Athos had had a number of conversations with him about the drinking - but he still hadn't told him why he was reluctant to go to bed with him, and that knowledge hung over him like an oppressive cloud. He was certain that when Porthos knew the truth he'd ditch him as a dead loss. In a way it was unfair to string Porthos along like this, Athos thought. Maybe he should end it first. But the cosy evenings cuddling together on Porthos' sofa were all he had to look forward to in life, and he wasn't strong enough to willingly give them up.

Not strong enough to do anything, Athos thought bitterly. Not even to tell the truth.

At the end of a cold week in October, Athos was making his way home after another mind-numbingly tedious day at work, hands lacerated as usual with cardboard cuts and thinking gloomily that he had an empty evening stretching ahead of him. Porthos was working on some greenhouse project miles out of town, and had told him he wouldn't be back until late as the deadline was today and he had to get everything finished.

Athos went into the general store on the corner of his road to pick up a pint of milk and a tin of soup for his dinner, wondering if picking one of the more exotic flavours counted as gourmet dining before deciding it would probably be revolting and selecting bog standard cream of vegetable. At the till he bought a scratchcard on impulse, and rubbed it off there and then with a coin from his change. He wasn't really expecting to win anything, but the thought had occurred to him that a windfall of fifty quid or so would mean he could take Porthos out to dinner for once, in return for all the home-cooked suppers he'd been getting. 

It wasn't quite fifty but to his surprise three numbers did seem to match. Frowning, he counted them several times to be sure before handing the card back to the lady behind the till to check he wasn't seeing things. 

"Twenty quid! Congratulations, love." She handed him the money and Athos thanked her, thinking that it might not mean dinner, but he could maybe take Porthos out for coffee and cake the following afternoon.

"Why don't you treat yourself, eh?" 

Athos looked up, and the lady smiled at him conspiratorially. "Just disappears on the normal housekeeping, otherwise, don't it?" she said. "Go on, indulge yourself."

Athos followed the line of her gesticulating hand and saw with a kind of cold inevitability that she was pointing to a stand of cut-price whisky. 

"On offer today," she encouraged him, sensing his hesitation and perhaps keen to see the twenty disappear back into the till. 

"I, uh - really, I can't." 

"Course you can! Go on, I can see you're tempted!" 

Athos realised he was staring at the bottles with a frozen, rabbit-in-the-headlights intensity. Suddenly he could taste it in his throat, could remember the warmth it left, the way it had numbed every feeling of insecurity he'd ever had.

Somehow there was a bottle in his hand and the shopkeeper was congratulating him again on his win. The encouragement felt confusing and conflicting, knowing in his heart that what he was doing wasn't in any way worth of praise.

 _You don't have to drink it,_ he thought. _Just get out of here. Give it away, pour it away, anything._

Athos went the rest of the way home in a daze, setting the bottle gingerly on the table as if it might explode. He took off his coat, put the milk in the fridge, filled the kettle. Paced around the room, biting his fingernails. Set out a saucepan and bowl, picked up the tin opener, put it down again. The thought of food suddenly made him feel sick, and he put the soup in the cupboard instead. 

He went and cleaned the bathroom until even the black mould in the tile grouting was gleaming. Turned the kettle on again, set out a mug and teabag, chewed off two more fingernails. Tidied the bedsit, folded his laundry. Turned the kettle on _again_ , actually managed to make the tea this time. Took a sip, burnt his mouth, realised his hands were shaking.

Athos sat down on the tiny two-seater couch, back to the table. He could feel the bottle looking at him. 

He should pour it away, he told himself. Except - opening it would be a bad idea. _Smelling_ it would be a bad idea. 

He should call Porthos. He knew he should. Only Porthos was working to a deadline, and he didn't want to screw up his life any more than he was already.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Athos got up again trying to distract himself, cleaned the kitchenette area, tidied things that were already tidy. Took a scalding hot shower, cleaned the bathroom again. Discovered his now-cold tea, poured it away, washed up the mug.

He'd go to bed, Athos decided. If he could manage to fall asleep, maybe he'd feel better in the morning. He could see Porthos tomorrow, confess everything. Porthos would help him. Porthos would take it away, would hold him, would tell him it was okay.

What if he didn't though, Athos' brain promptly suggested. What if he was angry, what if he thought Athos had been stupid? 

Athos got out of bed again, picked up the bottle and hid it in the bottom of his wardrobe. Suddenly, telling Porthos he'd actually weakened so far as to buy the bloody thing seemed like a massive act of self-sabotage.

Back in bed, Athos tossed and turned. He couldn't drop off, and his thoughts kept returning to the bottle in the cupboard. He could feel it calling to him, could feel himself weakening. He knew he was working himself into a ridiculous state, that he was blowing everything out of all proportion, but there was nothing he could do to stop himself fixating on it.

 _Call Porthos,_ he told himself. _Just - call him. Talk to him. Even if he thinks you're being a nuisance, it's better than giving in and having a drink._

Athos sat up and turned the lamp back on. Blinking blearily at the clock in the sudden bright light, he read quarter past twelve. Porthos would be at home by now, and probably still up if he'd worked late. It wasn't too bad.

Hands shaking worse than ever Athos reached for his phone, brought up Porthos' number. 

It rang and rang, and Athos was just starting to think he wasn't going to pick up when Porthos answered, his voice sounding thick with sleep.

"Hello?"

At that precise moment Athos' vision finally adjusted to the light enough to see the clock properly, and realised it wasn't just gone midnight at all, it was actually three in the morning. With a reflexive jolt of horror he hung up and stared at his phone guiltily. Shit. How was it that late? All his obsessive cleaning and distractions must have taken far longer than he'd thought. Or maybe he had fallen asleep after all, and not realised.

Suddenly his phone rang in his hand and he jumped violently. It was Porthos calling, and Athos stared miserably at the screen, not answering. Porthos had had a long and probably exhausting day's work, and now Athos had woken him up in the middle of the night. 

Eventually it stopped ringing as the answerphone cut in and Athos wondered nervously what kind of pissed off message he would leave, but then a few seconds later it started ringing again, and he flinched. Porthos obviously wasn't going to give up.

Reluctantly, he picked up. "Hello?" 

"Athos?" Porthos sounded both worried and relieved. "Are you alright?"

Athos felt a physical shudder run through him, and he stifled the urge to sob. He'd been so sure Porthos would be angry.

"Athos? Are you there? What's wrong?" Porthos persisted, sounding more anxiously awake by the second.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here," Athos managed. "I'm sorry, I - I didn't realise how late it was."

"It's alright. Athos, is something wrong? Are you okay?"

"I - no," Athos blurted. "I'm really not. I need - Christ Porthos I need a drink. I'm so close to having one. Fuck, I - I'm sorry, I - " he tailed off, feeling the urge to cry rising in his throat again and trying to swallow it away. 

"Athos give me your address," Porthos said urgently. "You at home? I'm coming round." There were scuffles in the background, as if Porthos was hastily getting out of bed and trying to find some clothes.

"No, really, you don't have to - it's the middle of the night - Porthos, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to - "

"Athos. Shut up and tell me how to find you," Porthos cut in firmly.

Athos stammered out his address, and Porthos grunted understanding. "Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can. Hang in there sweetheart, you can do this. You need me to stay on the phone?"

"No. No, I'll be alright." Picturing Porthos trying to drive and talk at the same time, and all the hideous things that could happen. 

"Okay. Call me again if you need to though. Stay strong, yeah? I'll be there soon." Porthos waited for Athos to hang up first, before grabbing his coat and pelting out of the house.

\--

Athos spent the time before Porthos arrived pacing tight circles in the space between the couch and the bed. Too wound up to relax and too afraid that he might succumb at the last minute just as help was on its way, a restless energy kept him moving like an impatiently caged animal.

When the buzzer went Athos hit the release for the downstairs door almost hard enough to break the button, feeling suddenly severely nauseous. By the time there was a knock on his door less than a minute later, he was practically in bits.

"Athos?" Porthos took in his miserable appearance and simply held out his arms. "Come here." 

He folded Athos in against him and held him tight. He could feel Athos shivering bodily, and wondered if after all, he was too late to stop Athos from making a bad choice. But for now he said nothing, just hugged Athos to him as hard as he could, murmuring formless reassurances against his hair.

"It's okay. I'm here, I've got you. It's going to be okay." 

For a long while Athos just clung to him, and Porthos stood there patiently and let him. He wasn't entirely sure what to do, needed Athos to guide him in what he required, and if for now that was just a safe pair of arms to hide in, then that was what he would offer. If Athos _had_ fallen off the wagon, he needed to be able to trust Porthos enough to tell him, and Porthos guessed pushing too hard for explanations at this point would be counter-productive.

After several minutes, Athos finally pulled back a little and looked up. Porthos saw with a jolt of sympathy that he'd been crying, although Athos made no move to wipe his face and Porthos wondered if he even realised it himself.

Porthos kissed him gently on the forehead with a smile and drew him over to the little sofa, guiding Athos to sit next to him and taking him back into his arms. 

"I'm sorry," Athos mumbled, wiping his nose and seeming to realise for the first time his face was all wet. Porthos found a clean tissue in his coat pocket and handed it over. "Thank you." Athos scrubbed at himself in self-conscious alarm, then sagged in defeat. "I'm so sorry," he said again. "I didn't mean to wake you up and drag you halfway across town. I'm such a fucking liability."

"It's alright," Porthos soothed. "You absolutely did the right thing, okay? I want you to know that. I'd rather you woke me up than - " he broke off, realising he didn't yet know what Athos _had_ done.

"What happened, Athos?" he ventured quietly. "Did you have a drink?"

"No." Athos shook his head vigorously, and there was enough indignant vehemence in it that Porthos sensed he was telling the truth. "I haven't." He looked wretched. "I nearly did," he confessed. "I needed one. So much. I still do."

Porthos gathered him in again and hugged him. "But you didn't. You stuck it out. You're so strong, you know that?"

"I don't feel strong." Athos leaned against him sadly. 

"Well, if you felt strong there'd be no level of achievement, would there?" Porthos smiled. "Nobody gets medals for something that's a piece of piss."

"I don't think anyone's going to be giving me a medal anytime soon," Athos sighed.

"I'll buy you a chocolate one if you're good." Porthos kissed him on top of the head. "If you're naughty I'll buy you two."

Athos summoned a smile, but it was a bit wobbly, and Porthos took Athos' hand in his. "What happened?" he asked again softy. "You seemed to be doing really well."

Athos shook his head, more in confusion than denial. "I don't know," he admitted. "Nothing really _happened_. I just - I guess it was just a bad day."

"Okay." Porthos nodded. He was relieved there didn't seem to be a particular crisis that had triggered this, but on the other hand it made it harder for him to offer advice. If this was just how Athos felt on a day-to-day basis then he didn't know what to do, and it left him feeling helpless. 

Athos had been right, Porthos thought guiltily. He should have found someone with their own experience of this, but Porthos had been so stupidly sure that his own cheerful support would somehow magically help him through it that he hadn't encouraged him to do so.

"Can you tell me what you need?" Porthos asked eventually. "I'm here for you Athos, but I don't have a clue what I'm doing and I'm scared of making things worse for you."

Athos looked at him in surprise, wondering how he could possibly see slogging across town at three in the morning without complaint as making things worse. He managed a stronger smile. "You're doing it," he said, his voice coming out sounding rather scratchy. "It's being alone that's the worst thing," Athos added. "Being alone with my thoughts, with the voice in my head that's telling me to just fucking give in because nobody cares."

"I care," Porthos whispered, and for some time they just sat there quietly leaning against each other. After a while Athos yawned, and Porthos turned to look at him with sleepy eyes.

"Why don't we go to bed?" Porthos suggested. "Just to sleep," he added quickly, seeing the momentary look of panic in Athos' eyes. "You're safe with me Athos, I promise."

"I know." Athos sighed, and there was something unaccountably sad in his eyes. "It's not that." He sighed, looking around and suddenly tensing as he realised this was the first time Porthos had seen his bedsit. Thanks to his compulsive cleaning earlier it was tidier than it normally was, but it still revealed that he lived in one room, with a breakfast-bar style kitchenette, a bed, sofa and table all competing for the same space, and a bathroom so tiny you had to sit on the loo with your feet in the shower. 

"Well. Welcome to my shitty apartment," he muttered, thinking that it hardly deserved the word.

"What's the matter with it?" Porthos asked. "Trust me, I've lived in worse. Should have seen the flat I was sharing before I got my gran's place." He shuddered. "Here's a tip for ya, never live with actors."

Athos found that despite everything he was smiling again. There was something very comforting about Porthos, maybe the way he was so accepting of everything, or how he never treated anything as a drama.

"Did you want to come to bed then?" Athos offered hesitantly and Porthos grinned at him, shucking off the raincoat he was wearing to reveal a pair of pyjamas. 

"Well I do seem to be dressed for it." 

Athos gave a startled laugh. "Christ, you really didn't hang around did you?" 

"Nope. Just long enough to put some shoes on." Porthos smiled at him. "Someone sent up the bat-signal see, and me costume's in the wash."

"I suppose I should just be grateful you're not wearing your pants on the outside," Athos murmured as he climbed into bed and scooted across enough to give Porthos room to get in behind him. It was a double bed, but a small one, and shoved up against the wall under the window.

Porthos snuggled up behind him and put his arm round Athos' waist. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," Athos breathed, slowly relaxing against the warmth of Porthos' body, untensing by inches for the first time in hours. "That's nice."

"Good." Porthos nuzzled a kiss onto the base of his neck, then settled down. "Knew I'd get you into bed eventually," he added with a smile.

\--


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Athos awoke to find that while the heaviness of the previous evening hadn't entirely lifted, the warm presence of Porthos beside him made him feel like he might be able to face it for once.

He rolled over to discover that Porthos was already awake, and watching him.

"Morning," Porthos smiled. "How you feeling?"

"Good," Athos nodded, smiling back, and Porthos considered him for a moment.

"You don't have to pretend, if you're not," Porthos said gently. "I mean, I'm glad, if you are. I just want you to know you don't have to put on a brave face, if you're feeling shitty on the inside. It's okay."

Athos wavered for a moment, then conceded a more hesitant nod. "Bit shitty, yeah," he confessed. "Not too bad though. Not like last night." He burrowed deeper into the pillow and looked up at Porthos with a shy smile. "Thank you, again, for what you did. And sorry, again, for ringing you at three in the fucking morning."

Porthos snorted. "And I'll tell you, _again_ , that you did the right thing. And anyway, I didn't do much. Just barged in and climbed into your bed really."

Athos' smile widened. "Maybe that's what I needed."

Porthos waggled his eyebrows with a smirk and shifted closer in the bed. "Can I kiss you?" he murmured. Athos nodded, and for some time afterwards there was no more talking.

It was warm, and slow, and lazy, but even so kissing each other lying in bed together was a world away from doing it on the sofa. After a while Athos could feel Porthos getting hard against him, and while it was hardly the first time, that too felt a lot more intimate through thin cotton pyjama bottoms than two pairs of jeans.

Porthos wasn't being pushy, but things inevitably got a little more heated between them until Athos abruptly pulled away, breathing hard. He rolled over away from Porthos, muttering apologies and Porthos cursed himself for a fool.

"Sorry, Athos, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to - " He rested a hand on Athos' shoulder and moved closer, making sure his erection didn't touch him. "I'm sorry," he murmured, leaning over and tucking Athos' hair gently back out of the way so he could see his face. "My stupid dick's got a mind of its own. I promise I would never do anything you didn't want."

Athos stared bleakly at the wall for a moment, then sighed. He half sat up, leaning back against the pillows and shot Porthos a reluctant look. "I have to tell you something," he admitted quietly.

"Okay. Go on." Porthos settled next to him, taken aback by the seriousness in his expression, then after a second burrowed under the covers for Athos' hand and clasped it.

Athos squeezed his fingers gratefully, and took a deep breath. "I can't have sex with you. It's not that I don't want to. I can't," he said flatly.

Porthos regarded him warily, mind going over all the reasons that might be so and coming up with one in particular that made him prickle with awkward discomfort. But he kept hold of Athos' hand. 

"Okay. Can you tell me why?" he asked.

Athos looked up at him and must have caught the look of cautious tension on his face, because his eyes widened and he flushed. "Oh, God, not that, nothing like that. I'm clean, I promise," he said hurriedly.

"Right." Porthos relaxed a little, feeling both slightly silly and cross with himself that it would have made a difference. "I'd have been supportive," he protested, and Athos smiled at him.

"Too good to be true, you are," he murmured, and wriggled a little closer so their shoulders were touching. 

Emboldened, Porthos slid an arm round him. "So come on then. Talk to me. What's up?"

Athos snorted. "It's more what isn't." He sighed, fidgeting with the duvet cover. "Long term heavy drinking can have a physical impact on more than your liver. I - I can't get it up, okay? I've not had an erection in something like two years." He stared miserably down the bed. "I'm no earthly use to you."

Porthos' answer was to pull him into a hug, relieved that actually it was nothing worse. "Don't be daft," he murmured. "You think all I'm interested in is your dick?"

Athos gave a miserable shrug. "Fairly major part of a relationship though, isn't it? Sex I mean."

"Is that all you're interested in me for?" Porthos asked mildly.

"No!"

"Then why would it be all I'm after?" he pointed out. "I like you Athos, I like being with you. Sex isn't everything. Anyway, you've been off the sauce for - what - nearly eight months now right? I'm no doctor, but bodies are pretty good at healing themselves, aren't they?"

Athos nodded but still looked gloomy. "I thought I might have been able to by now. Being with you - I kept hoping. But nothing." He sighed. "I suppose there's nothing stopping you fucking me if you wanted," he added. 

"And what would you get out of it?"

Athos' mouth twitched. "Well hopefully it wouldn't be entirely unpleasant."

Porthos laughed. "I'll wait until we can both enjoy it to the full," he declared. "I can be patient. And this is nice, isn't it? Just being in bed like this?"

"Yes," Athos agreed softly. "This is nice."

"We could have done this before."

"If I'd told you before, you mean?" Athos said dryly. "I know. I should have. I just couldn't bring myself to."

"Have you been worrying about it all this time?"

Athos nodded sheepishly, and Porthos hugged him close. "Muppet."

"I suppose I'd convinced myself that you'd lose interest in me if you knew the truth," Athos admitted.

"Can't think much of me then," Porthos said and Athos looked stricken, pulling out of his arms in distress. 

"Trust me, it's more that I don't think much of myself," Athos said, voice low and shaking, and Porthos winced, reaching out for him again.

"I'm sorry. Athos, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that, it was stupid." He'd known how fragile Athos' self-esteem was, he should have known better than to poke at him.

"I'm sorry. I don't want to be like this. I wish I wasn't, I really do, but I just - " Athos broke off, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as if he could physically force back what felt like the ever present threat of tears. "I'm a fucking mess, and to be quite honest you'd be better off without me."

Porthos lay down beside him and coaxed Athos to do the same, folding him into his arms. After a second or two of resistance Athos crumpled against him and Porthos held him tight, just stroking his hair and not saying anything.

After a while Athos pulled back a little and gave a shaky sigh. "Sorry."

"Better?" Porthos asked, and Athos nodded. "Good." Porthos kissed him on the forehead, then softly on the mouth. "I'm not going anywhere, okay?" Porthos murmured. "I can't magically make you stop worrying about things, I know it doesn't work like that, but I'm telling you now, that I like you - a lot - and I want to be with you, and if sex happens, great, but if it doesn't, that's fine too."

"I want it to happen," Athos said, and Porthos grinned at him.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it." He wrapped his arm around Athos' waist and settled them more snugly against each other, kissing him on the lips. "In the meantime, we'll just have to use our imagination, eh?"

\--

For a while it felt to Athos like things might almost be working out. Porthos was the epitome of patience; supportive and steady without ever letting Athos take things too seriously. Frequently now they would spend the night together, simply sharing kisses and cuddles in the darkness, and every time Athos felt anxiously compelled to check that this was enough for him, Porthos would smile and tell him yes. 

One evening though Athos seemed in a higher state of tension than usual, and while he wouldn't say what was wrong, after dinner he grabbed Porthos' hand and lead him upstairs to Porthos' bed. Wordlessly, he started stripping off his clothes, and after a hesitant second Porthos shrugged and did the same.

Naked for the first time in front of him, Athos climbed quickly under the covers, conscious that years of drinking and little exercise hadn't exactly left him with the same toned physique as Porthos. Porthos followed him in and slowly pulled Athos into his arms, feeling him shiver at the contact.

"Athos?" he whispered. "Is this okay? Is this what you want?"

Athos nodded jerkily, and Porthos frowned, but kissed him. "I'd feel better if you could raise a smile about it?" Porthos suggested quietly.

The smile Athos managed was a bit wonky and his breathy laugh distinctly nervous, but the kiss he delivered was all sincerity, and Porthos finally gave in and went with it. It was certainly nice to be given implicit permission to be a bit more passionate for once, and Porthos was soon hard as a rock. Athos though, despite their increasingly heated embrace remained flaccid and after about ten minutes of fruitless wriggling tore himself out of Porthos' arms with a despairing groan.

"It's no good. I'm just fucking useless," Athos made to climb right out of the bed, and Porthos hastily grabbed him round the waist and pulled him back.

"Hey. Where you going? Come back here you daft beggar."

"I can't do it," Athos moaned, and Porthos shook his head.

"So? Doesn't mean you have to run away. Come back here, keep me warm."

To his relief Athos slumped back down next to him, and Porthos nuzzled a kiss onto his cheek.

Athos gave him a guilty look. "I thought maybe if I got worked up enough I could manage it," he admitted defeatedly. "Turns out, not so much." He sighed. "I'm sorry, this is so unfair on you.

"Don't you worry about me," Porthos rumbled, his own cock still rigid against his stomach. 

"You can still have me if you want?" Athos offered. "I don't mind?"

"No. No way." Porthos shook his head firmly. "I ain't using you like a blow-up doll, I've told you that before."

"You should get something out of it," Athos persisted, sliding his hand down to take hold of Porthos' erection. "You've done so much for me, I should at least do something for you."

"That's not how it - " Porthos broke off because Athos had started stroking him and the guilty thought passed through his mind that it was possible to be _too_ noble about things. "You don't have to do this," he finished lamely, but it sounded insincere even to him, and Athos just smirked.

"No? Want me to stop do you?" Athos teased, leaning in closer and delivering long, slow strokes that were making bits of Porthos' brain go fizzy.

"Hhhngn," Porthos managed, and Athos' smile widened. 

"At least I can be good for something," Athos murmured, working Porthos to an even greater state of excitement. He was enjoying it himself, it had been a long time since he'd had a man's hard cock in his hand - for a couple of years not even his own - and it was gratifying to know he could at least give Porthos pleasure in this way.

A few minutes of concentrated pumping by Athos and Porthos suddenly grabbed his hand and went rigid, spilling his load thickly over his stomach with a contented and drawn-out groan.

Afterwards Porthos felt a little self-conscious, but Athos helped clean him up matter-of-factly enough, and laid down by his side with a quiet sigh.

"Thank you." Porthos put an arm around Athos and kissed him.

"You're welcome." Athos smiled at him, only slightly sadly. "I suppose I could have done that for you before," he mused.

Porthos snorted. "You're obsessed with sex, you are."

"So would you be if you couldn't manage it," Athos retorted. He was quiet for a while, tracing patterns on Porthos' chest with a fingertip. "I went to the doctor's today," he confessed eventually.

"Did you?" Porthos looked round at him in surprise. This was the first Athos had mentioned it. 

"Yeah." Athos wouldn't look up at him, just kept watching his own finger, going round and round. "I wanted to ask him how long he thought it would take for my body to - you know. Get over itself."

Porthos nodded. "What did he say?"

"That it should have, by now," Athos admitted. "That problems of that sort were normally temporary. I asked him if he'd give me some viagra."

"Oh Athos." Porthos hugged him tighter for a second. He hadn't realised quite how much Athos had been worrying about it. "He wouldn't?"

Athos shook his head dismally. "He doesn't think there's a physical problem, he thinks it's psychological. Says he wants me to try and conquer it myself before he considers a chemical solution." Athos huffed. "I suppose I could buy some on the internet."

"No!" Porthos protested. "You don't know what you'd be buying. It'll be okay," he added. "It's good that he thinks it's nothing physical, right?"

"Suppose," Athos muttered. Porthos tickled him, and he conceded a laugh. "Yes, alright, fine. But I'm not sure how you think it's going to make it any easier, knowing that apparently it's me sabotaging myself?"

"We'll figure it out," Porthos promised. "Together. Okay? However long it takes."

Athos eyed him warily, and Porthos sighed. "All this time, and you still don't believe that I like you, do you?"

"I just don't understand how you could," Athos admitted under his breath. "I'm a drunk and a loser and I can't even fuck you."

"You're not a drunk," Porthos protested, but before he could add hastily 'and you're not a loser', Athos had turned on him.

"I am," he cried out, half way between self-loathing and exasperation. "It doesn't go away, Porthos. Just because I'm not drinking doesn't mean I'm not still an alcoholic!"

"Okay. Fine. You're an alcoholic. And I still like you. You can't get it up. And I still like you. You're neurotic, depressive, moody, bad tempered, and you can't cook for shit. And I still like you." Porthos caught a glimmer of a smile and breathed a silent sigh of relief that Athos had taken all that in the spirit it was meant. He smiled back.

"And you're kind," he continued. "And you're gorgeous. And you're funny. And you're loyal. And you're an amazing artist, and you've been through so much shit but you haven't let any of it beat you. You _try_ , Athos. You never stop trying, no matter how hard it gets. And that is why I like you, and what I see in you, and why it will get better."

Athos looked on the verge of tears by now, and Porthos gathered him into his arms and kissed him. "It will get better," he repeated in a whisper, face buried in Athos' hair.

When Athos finally pulled away he looked calmer, but still troubled. "I'm scared," he admitted in an undertone.

Porthos took hold of his hand and clasped it in both of his. "Of what?"

Athos took a shuddering breath. "I would find it so easy, to fall in love with you," he said shakily. "But I just know that would come to mean me depending on you as much as I did on the drink. You'd be a crutch, Porthos. And if anything - if anything happened, if it didn't work out, if you came to your senses and got fed up with me, and God knows I wouldn't blame you - it would destroy me," Athos confessed.

Porthos digested this in silence for a moment, then lay back in the bed and encouraged Athos to settle in the crook of his arm, pulling the duvet snugly round them both. Having finally unburdened himself Athos felt more relaxed in his arms, and Porthos suspected another answer was hovering there behind everything that had been said.

"I reckon that's why you're still having trouble with the old chap," he said. "You can't let go enough. You're afraid I'll leave you and it's making you tense."

"You think so?" Athos sounded sleepy, and Porthos smiled down at him.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Could be."

Porthos wondered what to do for the best. He liked Athos, an awful lot, but he wasn't sure that he was in love with him. Maybe it was better for both of them to keep things at this level, of dating and snuggling and mutual affection. But he suspected that without that final step, that final seal of trust and commitment that came with being in love, Athos would never be secure enough to let go of everything that was holding him back. 

It was a dilemma. Porthos had no wish to offer false hope, knowing how dangerous that would be, but he also knew without it Athos would get steadily more anxious and depressed about what he perceived as his failure to perform in bed. Athos was already in a continual state of subconsciously trying to sabotage their relationship, constantly offering Porthos opportunities to break it off, or running himself down. Porthos had recognised what he was doing early on, and they'd even discussed it. Athos was nothing if not brutally honest about his shortcomings. 

Porthos sighed, and switched off the lamp. Athos settled more comfortably against him, and wound an arm round Porthos' waist. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"What for?"

"Being a fuck-up."

"That's okay," Porthos said. "You're my fuck-up, that's what matters."

Athos gave a muffled giggle, and Porthos smiled in the dark. Maybe that was the answer, he thought. As long as they could keep being honest with each other, they had a chance.

\--

It was nearing the end of term, and there was only one evening class left to run. It was Porthos' turn on posing duty, and what with getting changed and chatting to all the people intent on wishing him a merry Christmas, he was up on his podium before it dawned on him that he hadn't seen Athos yet.

Eyes flicking round the half of the room that was in view without spotting him at one of the easels, Porthos had to resist the urge to turn round and check behind him. People were already working, and it would piss everyone off if he moved now.

After a few minutes he heard the door open and close, and hoped it was Athos coming in late. Maybe he'd missed the bus. It certainly wasn't like him to miss a class, he'd come dutifully along to every one, and had mentioned to Porthos just the day before that he would miss seeing everyone once it finished.

As soon as Constance called time for the tea-break, Porthos spun round and scanned the room. There was a vacant easel by the door, but no Athos and he pushed down a mounting sense of unease. There were any number of reasons why Athos could have been held up, it didn't have to be anything serious. 

Nevertheless, Porthos pulled on his robe and hurried into the back where he'd left his clothes, ignoring the calls from people urging him to come and join them for tea and mince pies.

Kneeling on the dusty floor of the supplies cupboard, Porthos felt in the pocket of his jeans for his phone and thumbed on the screen. His stomach gave a sickening lurch. Three missed calls and a voicemail, all from Athos.

Hand shaking, he lifted the phone to his ear to listen to the message, praying it was just Athos saying the bus had broken down, or that he'd come down with something and didn't feel like going out.

The first few seconds were just heavy breathing, as if Athos was trying to pick his words. That he'd called and hung up without leaving a message the first two times suggested that whatever it was, it wasn't easy to say, and Porthos found he was chewing his lower lip in nervous anticipation.

"Porthos, I - sorry, I - tried to call, um - shit." There was a pause, and Porthos could practically see Athos' scrunched up face, the hand twisted into his hair. "I, um. Oh God, you're not there, are you. Look, never mind, I'll try and - I'll try to - " More distressed sounding panting, then a sad sounding little sigh. "I'm sorry, Porthos," Athos finished quietly. "I'm so sorry." There was a click, then it was just the mechanised tones asking him if he wanted to replay, save, delete.

Porthos tapped frantically out of the message service and called Athos back, but all he got was the recorded voice telling him the mobile he was calling was switched off.

"Fuck. Fuck, Athos, what have you done?" Porthos started pulling on his clothes with a panicked haste. He'd promised Athos he'd be there for him, that he'd keep his phone on him at all times, and what had he done? Left it in the store cupboard because he'd assumed Athos would be there tonight. Stupid, stupid and careless and please, please God not fatal.

Porthos hurtled out into the classroom. "Constance? Constance, I'm really sorry but I've got to go."

"What? Why? You can't!" Constance looked up, startled, trying to swallow around a mouthful of pastry crumbs. 

"I'm sorry, I wouldn't even think about it if it wasn't an emergency," Porthos said. "But I really have to go." 

"But what are they going to draw?" she protested.

Porthos grabbed d'Artagnan by the arm, who'd been stood there listening to this in some surprise. "D’Artagnan!" he declared, with a manic cheerfulness he didn't feel. "You'll step in, won't you?"

"What? Me?" stammered d'Artagnan, but his eyes slid speculatively to Constance, and Porthos grinned.

"Yes, you, who else? Now's your chance to shine, eh? You don't want to let Constance down, do you?"

"Well, no - "

"Excellent! Get your kit off then, there's a good lad." Porthos clapped him on the shoulder and backed away. "I'm really sorry," he said again to Constance, and ducked out of the door, already running. 

He made it to Athos' bedsit in record time, and banged on the door. "Athos? Athos, are you in there? Let me in!"

There was no answer, and Porthos wondered what the hell to do. He didn't have a key, and Athos was on the second floor, he could hardly climb in the window. He banged on the door again and rattled the doorknob, swallowing down panic. Reminded himself that he didn't actually know if there was anything majorly wrong. Maybe Athos just hated answerphones. Maybe he wasn't even here. Maybe Porthos was worrying over nothing.

But the sick feeling in his stomach told him that he was right, that something had happened, and he prayed that whatever it was, he wasn't too late to help.

The thing that made his mind up was noticing the line of light visible under Athos' door. He knew how short of money Athos was, he'd never have gone out and left the light on. After one last fruitless round of knocking, Porthos stepped back a pace and shoulder-barged the door.

On the second try it splintered open and Porthos staggered into the room, hoping to see an indignant Athos waking up from a nap. What he saw instead made his blood run cold. Athos was there alright, but he was lying on the floor, not the bed, and he wasn't moving.

"Athos? Athos!" Porthos threw himself down next to him, half afraid to touch him in case he was cold. This close the smell of whisky was so strong he almost recoiled, and Porthos discovered Athos was lying curled around an empty bottle.

"Athos?" Porthos forced himself to reach out, and groaned with relief to find him still warm and breathing. "Oh thank fuck." 

He eased the bottle out and threw it away, and patted Athos' cheek lightly. "Athos? Athos can you hear me?"

Athos' eyelids fluttered, and he frowned without opening his eyes, making a wordless noise of protest.

"Athos? Athos, it's me, wake up sweetheart. Oh, Jesus fuck what have you done?" Porthos moaned quietly. 

He wondered if he should call an ambulance. How much did it take to give you alcohol poisoning? Was he sure it had been just the one bottle, for that matter? Where the hell had Athos got it from in the first place?

Athos suddenly groaned and coughed, and curled forward around Porthos' knees.

"Athos, come on, I need you conscious," Porthos persisted, slapping him gently on the cheek again. "Wake up, for fuck's sake."

This time Athos' eyes cracked open, squinting painfully up at him. Porthos wasn't sure if he even recognised him, but he slipped a hand under Athos' armpit and pulled him up into a sitting position. 

"There. That's better. Are you okay? Do you know where you are? Can you tell me how much you've drunk?"

Athos swayed where he sat, apparently beyond any form of speech, but the change in angle certainly had one effect, and he suddenly looked up with the light of panic in his eyes and clapped a hand over his mouth in a gesture more eloquent than any words.

Porthos caught on, and moved quickly. "Oh here we go, okay, come on." He scrambled to his feet and half-supported, half-carried Athos into the bathroom where he crumpled to his knees by the toilet just in time.

Wincing, Porthos stepped back to give him the illusion of privacy, although he wasn't certain Athos even knew he was there. From the smell of it he was vomiting pretty much neat whisky, and Porthos was glad it was coming up again, figuring it was probably the best thing he could do.

After what felt like an agonisingly long time, Athos finally had nothing left to bring up and sat slumped over the toilet bowl pitifully dry-retching. When he was sure Athos wasn't going to pass out again, Porthos slipped across to the kitchenette to fetch him a glass of water.

The first couple of sips Athos immediately threw up again, but after a few minutes he was able to keep some down. He was starting to shiver, and Porthos fetched a blanket from the bed, wrapping it around Athos' shoulders and sitting next to him on the floor, legs out the doorway of the cramped bathroom. 

For a while they just sat there, Athos convulsively shivering with reaction and Porthos holding him close, and neither of them saying anything. Porthos slowly fed Athos the rest of the water, and when it was all gone and Athos had kept it down for at least five minutes, Porthos helped Athos up and over to the bed. 

There he undressed him, Athos putting up no resistance, but not helping either. He was utterly passive, and Porthos had to resist the urge to shake him. Instead he got undressed himself, down to t-shirt and boxers, and hunted out the same from a drawer to put clean on Athos. 

He wedged the front door with its broken lock firmly closed, switched on a lamp and turned out the overhead light. Athos was still sitting on the bed where Porthos had left him, and Porthos pulled back the covers and helped him in. Porthos curled up against Athos' back and just held him, staring blankly at the back of his head. He didn't know what had happened, or how to help, and this was the only thing he could think of to do, comforting with his presence. He knew it would be pointless pestering Athos with questions, that right now it would only distress him, and so he stayed quiet. 

It was still early, not long past half eight, and Porthos wasn't remotely tired but after a while he sensed Athos had fallen asleep. He carefully slipped out of the bed and retrieved the whisky bottle from where it lay on the carpet, rinsing it out in the sink so not even fumes remained, and burying it in the depths of Athos' kitchen bin. Then he went back into the bathroom and cleaned up in there, disinfecting everything and finally having a piss and cleaning his teeth. He'd already kept a toothbrush here for several weeks now.

Turning all the lights off, he climbed back into bed and slid his arm gently round Athos' waist. Despite the fact he'd been careful, Athos stirred, and made a questioning noise.

"It's okay," Porthos whispered. "Go back to sleep." 

"Porthos?" Athos sounded lost and confused and scared, and Porthos hugged him tighter.

"Yeah, I'm here. Shhh, it's okay." 

"I - I'm sorry, I - "

"Shhh." Porthos kissed him on the nape of the neck. "It's okay. You don't have to explain. Tell me when you're feeling stronger. Sleep now. I'm here, I've got you. Everything's going to be alright."

As he felt Athos eventually relax back into sleep, Porthos sighed and hoped to God he was right.

\--

When Porthos woke the next morning, it took him a moment to recall the events of the night before. He snuggled up against Athos' back, winding his arms around him and for a few blissful seconds he was obliviously happy.

"Porthos?" Athos' voice was hoarse and unusually hesitant, and in a stomach-dipping moment of clarity Porthos remembered everything. He sat up, blinking away the warm haze of sleep.

Athos looked up at him, a picture of misery. Not just the dark shadows under his bloodshot eyes, but the look in them, the look that said he was waiting for disgust and rejection and anger.

Porthos sighed. "I need tea," he declared gruffly. "I can't cope with shit until I've had tea. You want some?" He got out of bed without waiting for an answer and filled the kettle before ducking into the bathroom for a piss and a wash. 

He made the tea and carried it back to bed, climbing back in beside Athos. Wondered helplessly where to start.

"How do you feel?"

Athos dropped his gaze. "Everything hurts," he admitted.

"Headache?"

"And my stomach." He put a hand to his neck. "And my throat."

"Yeah, well, puking whisky'll do that to you." Porthos sipped his tea. "Where'd you get it?"

Athos drew up his knees and wrapped his arms around them. "I bought it before," he confessed.

"Before what?"

"When I last - came close," Athos said faintly. "When you helped me. That awful night."

This reminded Porthos uncomfortably that if he'd kept his phone close to him as promised this might not have happened, and he glowered. "You actually bought some? Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"

"I was scared you'd be angry with me," Athos admitted softly.

"Then why didn't you get rid of it?" Porthos persisted. "Keeping it for a rainy day?"

Athos flinched. "I should have. I know that. I should have thrown it away - given it away. But somehow I couldn't. And I know I should have told you. And I couldn't do that either." He dropped his head down, resting his forehead on his knees. "I can't do anything."

"You can drink your tea and pull yourself the fuck together," Porthos said bluntly. "You need fluids, you need food, and you probably need a slap." Hating himself for the way he was talking, but he was scared and confused and it was coming out as brusqueness. He'd thought they were coping - he'd thought _Athos_ was coping. He hated the possibility that Athos really was that close to the edge - and more so that he hadn't noticed.

Athos was drinking his tea obediently now, hands shaking so much he had to hold the mug with both to keep it steady enough.

"Do you need a doctor?" Porthos asked grudgingly.

Athos shook his head. 

"You need anything else?"

Another mute shake of the head.

Porthos sighed. "Yeah, well just let me know, eh." Athos looked up, puzzled, and Porthos slumped down in the bed. "When you're ready to talk to me," he elaborated, putting his mug to one side and closing his eyes. 

After a second he felt Athos hesitantly lie down as well, and lasted almost thirty seconds before cracking.

"Oh come here you soppy great poof." Porthos opened one eye and draped an arm around Athos, gathering him in against his side. With a muffled sob Athos clung to him like a limpet, and Porthos held him close. "It's alright," Porthos breathed. "It'll be alright." 

"What have I done?" Athos whispered miserably, and Porthos could feel him shaking.

"You fucked up," he said quietly. "But it's not the end of the world. We can fix it. But you have to want to. So no falling apart on me, okay? No using one screw-up as an excuse to backslide."

Athos raised his head to look at him, his expression guarded but for the first time almost hopeful.

"I thought you'd leave me," he said. It wasn't pitiful, or pleading, just a statement of fact, and Porthos wondered how anyone could even keep going with such a complete lack of faith in themselves.

"I ain't a quitter," he said, and rubbed Athos' back comfortingly. "But you aren't allowed to be either, okay? No running away or stupid shit like that. We'll face this together. Head on."

"Do you mean that?" Athos sounded shaken.

"Course I do." Porthos kissed him roughly on the cheek. "I'm sorry," he added more quietly, shamefaced. "You tried to call me last night. I had my phone in my pocket, I just wasn't wearing my trousers at the time."

Athos managed a tiny smile at the image. "I guessed where you were," he murmured. 

"Yeah, well. After everything I promised, that was pretty damn unforgivable," Porthos sighed. "I'm sorry Athos, really I am."

Athos shook his head. "It's okay," he said tiredly. "You're not responsible for me. What I chose to do last night was my fault, no one else's."

"Why d'you do it Athos?" Porthos pleaded. "I thought things were going kind've okay?"

Athos looked away. "Could I have another cup of tea?" he asked, deflecting the question. Porthos sighed. 

"Yeah. Course you can. But you've got to promise you'll talk to me about it sometime, okay? Later? When you feel up to it?"

Athos hesitated, then nodded, and Porthos nodded back, satisfied. He leaned over and kissed Athos on the forehead, before going to fetch more tea.

\--


	4. Chapter 4

This time Porthos brought back some hot buttered toast as well, and although Athos initially refused it, Porthos cut it up into small bite-size squares and fed them to him, eating a few himself to make it seem less daunting.

“There,” Porthos pronounced, wiping a stray smear of butter from Athos’ chin. “That’s better. Something hot inside you.” He winked, and Athos dutifully raised a wan smile. “Now. Shower next, I think,” Porthos said. “You’re practically oozing the stuff.”

Athos, it transpired, could barely stand, and Porthos had to help him into the bathroom. There wasn’t room for both of them in the tiny shower cubicle, so he wedged him in as best he could and then hovered outside, listening warily for a crash. 

Whether the hot water revived him somewhat, or there just wasn’t room for him to fall over wasn’t clear, but Athos managed to negotiate it successfully. Porthos heard the water shut off, and then a couple of minutes later the toilet flush, but Athos still didn’t come out, and after a moment Porthos knocked discreetly on the door.

“Athos? You okay in there?”

The reply was indistinct, and Porthos pushed the door open. Athos was bent over the sink cleaning his teeth, with a huge amount of toothpaste foaming over his lips. Porthos snorted.

“You haven’t got rabies as well have you?”

Athos gave him the finger, rinsing his mouth out and rubbing his face wearily with the towel. “I can still taste it,” he explained. “The whisky.”

He’d put a dressing gown on but Porthos could see Athos was starting to shiver again.

“You’re cold.”

“No. Not really.” Athos pulled the robe closer around himself, and trudged back to bed, slightly bent over as if in pain. He climbed back under the covers, robe and all, and Porthos came to sit on the edge.

“Get some more sleep,” Porthos told him. “I’ll stay with you.” 

Athos nodded gratefully, then abruptly sat bolt upright. “Shit. I’m supposed to be at work.”

“You’ll have to call in sick,” Porthos said. “You’re in no fit state to go anywhere.”

Athos sighed, nodding resignedly. Porthos fetched him his phone from where it lay on the table, and he made the call, telling his supervisor that he had flu and wouldn‘t be in for a few days.

“They won’t mind, will they?” Porthos asked, thinking that Athos looked more worried than the ease of the phone conversation had seemed to warrant.

“No.” Athos shrugged. “I just won’t get paid.”

“Don’t you get sick pay?” Porthos asked in surprise. Being self-employed he was used to having to ration his days off, but Athos worked for a fairly large company. 

“Not at my level of contract,” Athos sighed. “I pack boxes,” he explained, to Porthos’ look of confusion. “I’m not exactly a key member of the team.” He looked embarrassed, and Porthos took hold of his hand. 

“I dig holes for a living,” Porthos said. “At least your job doesn’t leave you covered in mud every day. Or slugs.”

Athos smiled slightly. “Yours is a bit more complicated than that,” he pointed out.

Porthos shrugged. “I’ve done my share of shit jobs. I don’t care what yours is, you know.” Athos had told him he worked for a mail order company, but always been rather vague about what it was he actually did, although Porthos had known it wasn’t particularly well paid.

“It shouldn’t matter,” Athos sighed. “I know that. But when you’ve been at the top, it hurts to be at the bottom. My career just one more thing I lost to the booze, along with my self-respect,” he said bleakly. “I’ll probably lose this job as well now.”

“Will you be heartbroken if you do?” Porthos pointed out. “No more cardboard cuts.” He lifted Athos’ hand to his mouth and kissed his fingers. 

“True.” Athos settled down in the bed and looked up at him from under heavy lids. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For being here.”

Porthos nodded. “Sleep now,” he said gently. “Because when you wake up we are going to talk about what happened last night.”

For the next couple of hours Porthos watched daytime telly, the sound down low so as not to disturb Athos. He made himself a sandwich with some cheese he found in the fridge, and ate a packet of crisps scrounged from the cupboard. 

Eventually, stirrings from the bed suggested Athos had woken up, but he didn’t call out and Porthos suspected he was putting off the inevitable. After a while Porthos got up and made two mugs of tea, but rather than taking one over to Athos he put them both down on the coffee table.

A minute or so passed, and further rustlings behind him proved to be Athos getting dressed when shortly afterwards he appeared round the end of the couch and sat down next to Porthos.

Porthos looked at him. “Ready to talk to me?” he asked quietly. 

Athos buried his face in Porthos' shoulder, and Porthos gave a quiet laugh at his reluctance. 

"Alright, if you don't want to talk about the cause, how about we talk about the future?"

Athos stiffened and drew back, anxious and wary and clearly presuming Porthos was about to dump him.

"Oh don't look at me like that," Porthos groaned. "I'm not going anywhere." He reached out and stroked a gentle thumb across Athos' cheek, cupping his face. "No ultimatums, okay?" Porthos said softly. "I'm not going to force any promises out of you. I just want to help. Will you let me?"

Athos relaxed a fraction and gave a jerky nod.

"Good." Porthos smiled at him. "Now, having said that, there are a couple of things I want you to agree to."

"Go on," Athos said cautiously. 

"I think you should join the AA group," Porthos said.

Athos nodded at once. "Agreed."

"Good. Get yourself a proper sponsor, yeah? One who knows what he's talking about," Porthos added and Athos smiled at him, reaching out to take Porthos' hand. 

"What's the second thing?"

Porthos squeezed his hand, hesitating a moment. "The second thing..." He drew a figure 2 on Athos' palm with his finger. "I want you to move in with me."

"What?" Athos looked shocked, and Porthos nodded.

"I've been thinking about it while you were asleep, and I think it's the best solution all round. I can keep a better eye on you that way, and it'll be easier for both of us - and more comfortable. Last time I used your shower I nearly gave myself a concussion," Porthos muttered. "Look, if it don't work out there's plenty of other shitty bedsits around. Are you really that attached to this one?"

"I suppose not," Athos conceded, looking round. He frowned. "What happened to my door?" he asked, noticing for the first time it was wedged shut and splintered. 

Porthos looked sheepish. "Broke in last night when you weren't answering. Sorry. I'll pay to get it fixed, obviously."

"Oh Porthos." 

To his surprise, Athos leaned over and hugged him tightly. He patted him on the back, laughing, and Athos kissed him on the cheek.

"I've never had a knight in shining armour before." 

"Yeah, well, I've never had a damsel in distress," Porthos grinned.

"You haven't had this one yet," Athos murmured and Porthos laughed uproariously, glad that there were still chinks of light in Athos' gloomy aura. 

"So?" He pressed. "What do you say, will you move in with me?"

"I can't ask you to do this," Athos protested, but Porthos interrupted him.

"You're not asking me, I'm asking you. No, in fact I'm telling you. You're moving in with me. So there. Sorted. Okay?"

Athos hesitated. "There's something you should probably know," he said finally. "About what happened yesterday."

"Does that mean you're finally going to tell me?" Porthos asked, and Athos sighed.

"Yes. I've been trying to get my head round it and I can't. Maybe you're right, maybe telling you will help." Athos curled his feet up under him on the couch and picked up his tea, cradling it against his chest for the comforting warmth. 

"When I got home from work yesterday," Athos said slowly, "there was someone here waiting for me."

"Who?"

Athos sipped his tea and took a deep breath, as if the effort of saying it cost him dear.

"My wife." 

"Your wife?" Porthos echoed, startled. 

"Ex-wife," Athos corrected, and Porthos stared at him. He'd almost forgotten Athos had been married; other than the first time he'd told him Athos had never mentioned it again.

"What did she want?"

"Money, of course."

Porthos snorted. "You haven't got any."

"No, I know," Athos sighed. "But I did once. I was quite rich, once. She got a decent settlement in the divorce, but there was plenty left over. It's just - well, I drank most of it," Athos confessed. "Lost the rest when I lost the house. I guess she thought I'd still have some of it left. I've no idea how the hell she found me."

"She pissed off again then, when she realised you were skint?" Porthos asked. He'd been worried at first that she'd wanted Athos back, but that didn't seem to be what was bothering him.

Another lengthy hesitation. "She wasn't alone," Athos said eventually. "She had - a child with her. A little boy. About two and a half, three."

Porthos did the maths. "You said you'd been divorced about two years when we met?"

Athos nodded. "She says he's mine."

"Bloody hell." Porthos leaned back into the corner of the couch and stared at him. "Is he?"

"I don't know." Athos looked wretched. "He could be, I suppose."

"Well did he look like you?"

"I don't know, he was a toddler, he looked like a toddler," Athos snapped. "He was white, he had brown hair, so yes, okay, it's not genetically impossible."

"What about physically improbable?" Porthos asked. "I'm not being funny, but could you even get it up to have given her a kid? If you were on the brink of divorcing were you even still sleeping together?"

Athos looked shamefaced. "There were a lot of nights I got black-out drunk," he admitted. "I could have slept with her and not remembered it."

Porthos frowned. "Do you think the kid's yours? You don't sound convinced."

"Why wait till now?" Athos argued. "She could have been squeezing me for money all this time. And why not tell me she was pregnant? Why keep it at all for that matter, she was never the sentimental type."

"You're saying she's just trying it on? That's he's not yours after all?"

"Might not even be hers," Athos said darkly. "Wouldn't put it past her to borrow one for the occasion."

"Wow." Porthos was almost speechless. "What kind of woman did you marry?"

"One who lied a lot," Athos said bitterly. He sighed, setting down his mug on the table. Porthos noticed his hands were shaking again, badly.

"You want it to be yours," Porthos realised with a sudden flash of insight. "You want her to be telling the truth."

Athos gave a reluctant nod. "I would have loved a child," he whispered. "But she never wanted any."

"Well - maybe he is yours?" Porthos ventured. "That'd be good then, wouldn't it?"

Athos' face crumpled. "She said unless I came up with the money she wanted, she - she'd never let me see him again," he blurted out in a rush. "She said I was no use to them otherwise." Tears were abruptly spilling down his cheeks, and Porthos pulled him into his arms, horrified.

For several minutes Athos sobbed his heart out and Porthos held him and rocked him and kissed him until it was over and he was calmer.

"Sorry," Athos sighed, a handful of soggy tissues crumpled in his fist. "You must think I'm pathetic."

Porthos shook his head. "No, I don't. I think a good cry now and then does you good. And, for the record, I owe you an apology."

"What for?" Athos asked, surprised.

"I thought you'd just fallen off the wagon," Porthos admitted. "Given in to temptation."

"I did," Athos said quietly. 

"Not without provocation. Fuck me, Athos after all that I'm not surprised you needed a drink."

"If only I could have stopped at one," Athos sighed. "I did try. But once I'd given in - I told myself I'd already failed, so what did it matter. That I was going to lose everything either way."

"Twat," said Porthos fondly, ruffling his hair and settling Athos more comfortably in his arms. 

"You forgive me then?"

"Nothing to forgive. But yes, if it helps, then I forgive you." Porthos kissed him. "And also for the record, if you had just fallen off the wagon without a barnstormingly good reason, I'd have forgiven you then as well."

Athos rested back against him, and Porthos could feel his muscles twitching restlessly.

"It's going to be bad, isn't it?" Porthos murmured.

Athos nodded. "I fucked up, and I'm going to have to pay the price. I just undid ten months of hard work in one night, and I'm back to square one."

"I promise I'll do what I can, to help. Will you move in with me?" 

"Are you sure you still want me to?" Athos twisted round to look up at him. "I might end up with a kid in tow."

"Don't matter. I like kids," Porthos smiled.

Athos gave in. "Alright. Yes, then. Thank you."

"There's a spare room if you'd prefer it," Porthos said. "But I'd rather you slept in with me."

Athos smiled up at him. "So would I," he said. "If that's okay?"

"Course." 

They kissed each other to seal the deal.

\--

By the evening Athos was noticeably jittery, although he was doing his best to hide it. Porthos tried to keep him distracted, and after coaxing Athos into eating a small amount of supper made him sit down to play cards. 

Athos was having increasing trouble concentrating though, and after Porthos had had to prompt him for the fourth time in a row Athos threw down his hand and groaned.

"I can't. I'm sorry. My brain's just too squirrelly."

"Never mind." Porthos pushed the cards to one side and propped his feet up on the coffee table instead. "Here, did I tell you about d'Artagnan?" He related the tale of how he'd abandoned his post mid-class and nominated the startled d'Artagnan to take over from him, and was pleased when Athos laughed.

"Do you think he did?"

"I might be out of a job," Porthos grinned. "Constance might prefer him."

"You can pose for me any time," Athos told him. "In fact, I might make you, so I can keep my hand in."

"Keep your hand in where?" Porthos smirked, rolling over and kissing him. 

For a while the smooching session provided a better distraction than the card game had, but afterwards Athos was fidgety again, and Porthos regarded him helplessly.

"Is there anything that would help?" he asked.

"A drink?" 

"Apart from a drink," Porthos snorted.

"Not really, in that case," Athos said, with a glimmer of a smile. "It's just something I have to endure."

"Are you in pain?"

"Not pain exactly," Athos sighed. "Apart from the lingering bits of hangover anyway." He stared down at his hands, watching the tremble in his fingers until he abruptly snatched them into fists. "It's like - " He searched for a way to explain the way he was feeling. 

"You know when you get an insect bite? And you're sort of aware of it, all the time, like this background low-level discomfort? But then you accidentally knock it, and suddenly it's maddening. It's all you can think about. It takes every inch of willpower you've got not to scratch it. Because you know that scratching it will make it better, it will take the itching away, but only for as long as you're scratching. And once you stop, it will be a thousand times worse than if you'd never touched it in the first place." 

He looked up at Porthos. "Well imagine that, but infinitely worse. And constantly. Day and night. For months." Athos sighed. "For years, I presume. Not that I'd got that far. But I don't imagine it ever lets up."

"You will." Porthos put an arm around him. "You got this far once, you can do it again." He hesitated, then ventured, "Does it get better at all?" 

Athos blew out another sigh and nodded. "By inches. It was getting - manageable. There was never a day went by that I didn't want a drink, but it had got to the stage where it was a thought I could more easily push away." He looked bleak. "And now I'm right back to where I was. Obsessing over it. A junkie in need of his fix."

Porthos rested his head against Athos', not knowing what to say that wouldn't sound trite. He linked their fingers together, and Athos gave a quiet sigh. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "You didn't sign up for this."

"Bollocks," said Porthos. "I knew what I was taking on. You made it quite clear it wasn't going to be easy." He looked sideways at him. "And I thought I'd made it quite clear that I reckoned you were worth it."

"Do you still?"

Porthos kissed him. "More than ever."

Athos gave him a surprised smile, that faded suddenly into a frown.

"What?" 

"I just thought. If I move in with you, Milady won't know where to find me."

"Milady? That's your ex-wife?" 

Athos nodded.

"Well she found you before," Porthos pointed out. "Besides, she won't need to."

"Why not?"

Porthos looked determined. "Because we're going to find her first."

\--

After a restless night, the next day Athos moved his stuff across to Porthos' house and gave notice on his bedsit. He didn't have much in the way of belongings, and to Porthos' surprise they did it in one car-load.

Porthos shifted some of his own clothes out to the spare room and gave over half his wardrobe to Athos. "There," he pronounced. "Now this is your home too. You're not just staying in my house, okay? You belong here." Athos was starting to look a bit teary at this, so Porthos gave him a firm peck on the cheek and left him to sort his clothes out.

Downstairs, there were a couple of Athos' boxes on the dining table. One held his meagre collection of crockery and cutlery and Porthos moved that into the kitchen, before lifting the flap to examine the second. It seemed to be mostly books, so Porthos cleared a space on one of his shelves and started stacking them neatly together.

In the bottom of the box was something that Porthos took at first for a larger-format book, and he lifted it out without really looking, only to have pieces of paper suddenly scatter themselves over the table and floor.

"Shit." Belatedly realising it was a photograph album, Porthos hurriedly gathered them up. He'd managed to pick it up upside down, and half the pictures had fallen out of the sticky corners holding them in.

He sat down on one of the dining chairs and flipped through it, trying to judge from size and context which photograph went in which gap. The first section was holiday snaps; vistas of blue sea framed with hazy tamarisk, rainy city-scapes, and one sequence of a sleepy looking cat stretched out on sun-warmed flagstones.

The second half was all people, and Porthos suddenly found himself looking at a page of wedding pictures. Athos in a linen suit standing on a terrace above a sparkling sea, with a dark-haired beauty on his arm. Porthos stared. This must be the infamous Milady. He'd been expecting someone hard and shrewish, but she was gorgeous, head back and laughing and very much all woman. 

A sudden nagging doubt assailed him. Athos said he was into guys, but had he ever actually said that he'd been involved with one? Porthos couldn't remember. What if part of his continued inability to sustain an erection was through some subconscious fear of actually being with a man?

Knowing he probably shouldn't but too fascinated to stop, Porthos continued to flip though the album. He'd only ever known Athos as an indecisive, rather scruffy individual, full of self-doubt and neuroses. The pictures sliding past under his fingertips displayed a very different Athos. Standing tall and confident and always immaculately and expensively dressed, Porthos had the thought that Athos had been one of those guys he would have lusted after from across a crowded room, but been far too nervous to ever approach. He had an air of arrogance about him in the pictures that Porthos found embarrassingly arousing.

"What are you doing?"

The quiet voice from behind him made Porthos jump guiltily, and a slew of photographs fell back to the floor. This time it was Athos who picked them up, and Porthos cleared his throat.

"Um. Sorry, I dropped it, I was just - trying to help. I didn't mean to pry." Braced for anger at the invasion of privacy, or worse, tears.

Athos was flipping through the pictures in his hand. "I should have got rid of these," he sighed. "I don't know why I didn't."

"You can't just ditch your whole past," Porthos said. "You looked good," he added cautiously. 

Athos gave a bleak laugh. "And there's a glass in my hand in every single one of them." He dropped the photographs back onto the table and walked out again. 

Porthos fanned the pictures out with a fingertip and sighed. Athos was right, and he hadn't even noticed.

He found Athos sitting on the back step, breathing in the cold evening air. It was a clear night, and the stars were sharp and glittering overhead. Porthos stuffed his hands up the sleeves of his jumper and climbed down next to him.

"Budge up."

Athos made room, and then to Porthos' relief leaned against his shoulder.

"Times like this, I wish I smoked," Athos said.

Porthos smiled. "No good swapping one vice for another."

"Maybe I should become a nymphomaniac," Athos said sleepily. Porthos chuckled.

"Now that one I approve of." He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course." 

"Have you ever actually slept with a man?"

Athos looked surprised. "Yes?" He gave Porthos a speculative look. "Afraid my little problem's just stage fright?" he guessed. "I wish."

Porthos was embarrassed. "Sorry. And - sorry for going through your album. I should have stopped when I realised what it was."

"It's okay." Athos rested his head on Porthos' shoulder, and Porthos put his arm round him. "I don't want to have any secrets from you." There was a pause, then Athos smirked. "Although I do demand to see your baby photos as recompense."

\--

"Will you be alright? Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Porthos wound a scarf around Athos' neck, tucking the ends neatly into his coat.

Athos smiled, resting his hands on Porthos' chest. "I'll be fine," he promised. "But thank you." 

"I could come and meet you afterwards?"

"Porthos, it's five minutes' walk!"

"I know, I know." Porthos pouted. "Just - call me, yeah? If you need me?"

"If I need support from the support group you mean?" Athos smiled, and Porthos gave a quiet laugh.

"Yeah. Exactly."

They hugged each other, then Athos looked at his watch and pulled away. "I'd better be going. Just think, you can have a nice peaceful evening without worrying about me for once."

"Yeah." Porthos sounded dubious, and Athos kissed him on the cheek.

"I'll see you later."

\--

The school building was even more empty and echoing than usual, all other evening classes having finished for the term. The Alcoholics Anonymous group was the only one still running, and would run right through the festive season, this being the hardest time of year for many of its members. 

Athos realised with a faint sense of surprise that it was Christmas next week. What with everything else going on, it had sort of crept up on him. He'd have to get Porthos a present, he thought, and wondered what he would like - and what he could afford. Porthos had flatly refused to accept any rent from him, but had grudgingly accepted a contribution towards the utility bills, and after a couple of days' recovery Athos had insisted on going back to work. Box-stuffer might not be the most fulfilling position in the world, but it was a job, and it kept his hands busy and his mind occupied, which right now was more important than the meagre amount of cash it brought in. 

Athos followed a couple of other stragglers down to the basement, and paused for a moment outside the classroom, taking a few deep breaths. He could do this. He had to do this. 

\--

In the end, it wasn't so bad. There was something innately reassuring about knowing everyone else was there for the same reason, and that no one was judging you. He was welcomed warmly to the group, and whilst there was no particular pressure to speak, he explained that he'd recently lapsed after being ten months dry, and was looking for help. He didn't go into details and nobody pressed, but somehow it was far easier to tell a room full of strangers than it had been to tell Porthos that first time. 

He came away feeling surprisingly positive, and also with a little more perspective on things. There had been people there who were having to hide their problem from their families, or who had partners that were unsympathetic to their issues. At least he had someone who cared, and who was trying to understand. Someone he could be honest with.

Reaching home, as he opened the front door, Athos was surprised to hear the low murmur of voices from the kitchen, and the clink of a spoon in a mug. A little hesitantly he pushed the door open and found Porthos seated at the table drinking tea with a man he didn't recognise.

"Well, hello! This must be the mysterious Athos!" The second man leaned back in his chair and gave him a friendly grin. "I've heard a lot about you! Or at least, I started to, before Porthos dropped off the face of the earth for weeks."

Porthos half-frowned, getting to his feet and coming over. "Sorry Athos, this is my friend Aramis." He turned so Aramis couldn't see his face, and mouthed 'everything okay?'

Athos nodded, but he was suddenly feeling guilty. "God, sorry, have I been keeping you away from your friends?" Dawning on him that of course someone like Porthos would have loads of friends, and feeling that it should have occurred to him before, that if Porthos was spending all his time with him it would mean he was neglecting other friendships.

"Oh don't worry." Aramis winked at him. "I know what it's like in the first flush of a new relationship. I bet you can't keep your hands off each other."

Athos cleared his throat awkwardly. "Um. Yeah. Something like that."

"You want a cup of tea?" Porthos asked, starting over towards the kettle, but Athos shook his head.

"No thanks, I've had enough for one night."

Aramis picked a chocolate biscuit out of the packet open on the table and waved it at Athos. "When Porthos let slip he had a free evening I tried to convince him to come to the pub, but he wouldn't. So I came round to steal his hobnobs instead. But maybe now you're here we could all go?" he added hopefully.

"Oh, I, er - actually, I'm - a teetotaller," said Athos carefully.

Aramis raised his eyebrows. "Really? Blimey." He looked over at Porthos. "He's not a religious nut is he?" he asked in a stage whisper, and Porthos snorted.

"No. Anyway, _you're_ religious!"

"Yeah, but Catholicism practically encourages you to drink," said Aramis blithely.

"I think Aramis might be able to help us," Porthos explained, sitting down again and quickly changing the subject. After a second, Athos joined them at the table.

"With what?" 

"Finding Milady."

Athos looked at Aramis in surprise. "You're a detective?"

Aramis looked hugely pleased with that and Porthos snorted with laughter. "No, he's an actor. But more to the point he's banging somebody who works for the revenue service, and has access to massive databases of personal information."

"All I need's a date of birth and full name," said Aramis. "Assuming she's paying tax in some form or other somewhere in the country we should be able to pull up her address no problem."

"Is that strictly legal?" asked Athos dubiously.

"Do you want to find her or not?" Porthos demanded.

"Yes, but I don't want to get anybody fired in the process."

"Don't worry," Aramis said reassuringly. "There's no risk. Marguerite'll get me anything I ask for. Come on, what's her name?" He pulled out a pen and Athos sighed.

"Milady Clarick de la Fere. Or De Winter, if she's gone back to using her maiden name I suppose." He gave Aramis her date of birth, and he copied it all down, nodding.

"Well at least you didn't marry a Jane Smith," Aramis observed cheerfully. "Should be a piece of cake. You've had no luck yourselves?"

"We did a bit of basic googling," Porthos told him. "Nothing recent."

"The only hits relate to stuff before we divorced," Athos admitted. "It's like she's dropped out of sight. I suppose - " he trailed off. "I suppose if she had had a child, that might explain her being out of circulation rather."

"Plenty of people avoid an online presence," Porthos reminded him. "It doesn't prove anything."

"No, I know." Athos sighed. "I suppose I'm just hoping."

"You want the kid to be yours then?" Aramis asked conversationally, and Athos froze, glancing at Porthos and wondering exactly how much he'd said.

"I - yes, I suppose so," Athos said stiffly.

Belatedly realising he'd put his foot in it, Aramis drained his tea and got up, stealing another biscuit as he pulled his coat on. "Well, I'd better be off. Nice to meet you Athos, it's about time Porthos found himself a nice young man."

Athos smiled despite himself, mostly because of the spluttering coming from Porthos.

"Nice to meet you too," he said. 

"I'll be in touch," Aramis promised, and gave Porthos a hug goodbye. "See ya."

Once he'd gone, Porthos sighed. "Sorry."

"What for?" Athos asked neutrally, taking the last biscuit and nibbling the edge.

"That obviously pissed you off. Me telling him about the kid. You had a face like thunder."

"He's your friend?" Athos asked, avoiding the issue.

Porthos nodded. "My best mate. We used to share a flat. I've always been able to tell him anything." He hesitated. "I just thought he might be able to help. He was banging on about this girl's connections, and I had a bit of a lightbulb moment. I'm sorry if I was out of line."

"You didn't tell him anything else?" Athos asked warily. From the brief conversation it seemed Aramis had been oblivious to both Athos' drink problem and issues in the bedroom, but he needed to be sure. He wasn't certain he could cope with the idea of Porthos discussing those behind his back.

"I just told him your ex had turned up with a kid in tow and you needed to find her," Porthos said earnestly, leaning across the table to capture Athos' hands. "Nothing else, I promise. I wouldn't." 

Athos conceded a tight nod, and Porthos looked anxiously at him.

"Have I fucked up?" he asked quietly. 

"No. No, of course not," Athos said. 

"I just wanted to help."

"I know." Athos gave him a tired smile. "Let's hope he comes up with the goods."

"He should do." Looking brighter, Porthos got to his feet and pulled Athos up as well. "Come on, let's go and snuggle up on the couch. You can tell me how it went tonight. Was it okay?"

"Yeah. It was good. I think it helped," Athos admitted. 

"I'm glad." Porthos pulled him closer, and Athos sank gratefully into his embrace.

“Have I been getting in the way?” Athos murmured, having achieved the safety of Porthos’ arms. “Of you seeing your friends?”

“No, don’t be daft.” Porthos squeezed him tight. “I’d have introduced you to them before, but they tend to meet up in pubs and stuff.”

“Most people do,” Athos sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m ruining your life.”

Porthos tilted Athos’ chin up and kissed him deeply for a considerable length of time. “Trust me,” he murmured. “That’s not how I see it.”

\--


	5. Chapter 5

On Saturday Athos ventured into the town centre with the intention of securing a Christmas present for Porthos. Despite the dull weather and biting wind the streets were crowded, and at first Athos rather enjoyed the festive feeling to it all. 

Wandering from shop to shop in search of inspiration, he found his eyes were drawn time and again to the number of parents with small children. He'd never really noticed before, but suddenly it seemed like everyone in the world apart from him was in possession of an excited looking toddler, all wide eyes and brightly coloured woollens. 

With an aching heart he wondered whether Milady had been telling the truth. Did he have his own son? And wherever he was, was he happy, did he miss having a father? What if there was someone else in her life? Athos realised with a sick jolt that even if the little boy was his, there might be somebody else he thought of as daddy.

Preoccupied with his own thoughts, Athos browsed along an aisle labelled 'gadgets for men' that all seemed to be made from brushed steel and exclusively pointless in function. Not really paying attention to where he was going, he suddenly emerged in the toy section and found himself confronted by a veritable wall of cuddly animals. 

He picked up a plush grey elephant and had to swallow down the threat of tears. It was soft under his hands, and as he stroked the nylon fur he suddenly had the thought that if Aramis came through with Milady's location he might be able to see them before Christmas. He'd need to take a present.

In a daze, Athos paid for the elephant and drifted back outside. The cold air brought him to his senses a little, and he was struck by a wave of despair. Who was he kidding? The child wasn't his, and he would never be a father.

Stumbling through the pedestrianised shopping precinct it felt like everywhere he looked there were little kids, and suddenly Athos couldn't bear it any more. The feeling of misery was concentrating itself into a savage need for a drink, and it occurred to him that a pub was the one place there was unlikely to be any children.

Hardly knowing what he was doing, Athos pushed through the doors of the nearest pub and made his way to the bar. The welcoming array of optics and beer pumps, the fridges with their bottles of wine and brightly coloured alcopops made him feel rather like a child in a toy store himself. 

"What can I get you sir?"

Athos blinked the bottles into focus, trying to decide. He wanted a whisky - no, he wanted a lot of whisky - but that would end badly. _Could_ he restrain himself enough to have one of something? Maybe half a lager. If he ate with it - Athos sighed. He knew he was fooling himself, they were all arguments he'd used a thousand times before. It was never just one. 

A group of lads in football scarves had come in behind him and were crowding up to the bar a little further along. Athos nodded in their direction. "I'm not quite sure yet, do them first maybe?"

The barman nodded and moved away and Athos glanced down at the elephant he'd forgotten he was still holding. What kind of father got blackout drunk? And what would Porthos say for that matter? Even if he didn't dump Athos outright, he'd be so disappointed in him. 

With an immense effort of will, Athos turned around and walked outside again. Hitting the fresh air he found he was trembling, and staggered into the little square of formal gardens across the road.

Finding an empty bench Athos collapsed onto it, shivering bodily. He noticed passers-by giving him funny looks, and guessed they thought he was drunk already. What must he look like, a grown man with the shakes, clutching a fluffy elephant?

He should call someone, he knew that. He had a couple of numbers from the AA group, and an standing instruction to call them if he needed to - but this was more than the alcohol hurting him. He needed someone who understood about the rest. He needed Porthos.

Hands shaking so much he nearly dropped it, Athos pulled out his phone. His chest felt tight and he was having difficulty catching his breath, and for a second he wondered if this was it, if all the years of abusing his body had caught up with him and he was going to die where he sat. 

Unable to speak, or even to form a coherent sentence in his head, he managed to pick out a single word to text to Porthos. 

_Help._

He knew Porthos was working somewhere in town, trying to finish off a garden job before the Christmas break. Athos had barely had time to wonder if Porthos would have his phone close enough to hear the text come in when his own phone started ringing, and he saw with a lurching sense of relief it was Porthos.

"Athos? Are you okay?" Porthos demanded anxiously as soon as Athos picked up.

"No." It was barely a breath, and Athos wasn't sure Porthos would even have heard it, but he did.

"Where are you?" 

Athos sucked in a shallow breath that made him feel dizzy. "In town."

"You need me to come and get you?" Immediately practical, and not wasting any time. 

"Yes."

"Okay, I'm on my way. Where are you exactly?"

Another breath, his vision blurring. "The gardens. In front of the town hall."

"Okay. I'm on my way, sit tight." Porthos hung up, and Athos resisted the urge to slip sideways to lie on the seat. It would be cruelly ironic if he was arrested for being drunk and disorderly.

He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there, just concentrating on breathing, one at a time, in and out, when someone slid onto the seat next to him. 

"Hey." Porthos put an arm around his shoulders, and Athos let himself be pulled into a warm embrace. "It's okay. I'm here now." Porthos held him tightly, not pestering him with questions, just comforting him with his presence.

Eventually Athos found his breath coming easier, and sat up. Seeing he was a little recovered, Porthos relaxed.

"That my Christmas present?" he grinned, nodding at the toy elephant still clasped in Athos' hand. Athos managed a smile, and Porthos kissed him. "You need me to take you home?"

Athos nodded, guilt and gratitude and weariness all fighting for dominance.

Porthos helped him up and lead him to his car parked in a nearby side street. The seats were down in the back and it was full of tools and the smell of earth.

"Sorry," Athos rasped. "You were busy."

"You're forgiven," Porthos told him promptly, suspecting that absolution would be more use than being told there was nothing to be sorry for. "You did the right thing."

Athos was quiet on the short ride home, and as Porthos let them into the house he thought privately that Athos looked ready to drop. 

"Go and lie down," he instructed. "I need to just clean up a bit, then I'll come and join you."

Having washed the dried mud off his hands and taken off his work boots, Porthos climbed the stairs and found Athos lying on the bed hugging the toy elephant. He went in quietly and lay down behind him, putting his arm round Athos' waist.

"So does he have a name?"

"Who?" Athos turned slightly, frowning.

"The heffalump." 

"Oh. No." 

"Well that's no good is it? How about Nelly? Or is that you, you great nelly?" Porthos teased gently, and was glad to see the ghost of a smile on Athos' face.

"I think I'm more Dumbo," Athos said ruefully, rolling onto his back so he could look up at Porthos.

"Got a trunk fixation, you have." Porthos grinned, relieved to see Athos had a bit of colour back in his cheeks. When he'd first seen him sitting on the bench, he'd been afraid Athos was about to pass out.

"What happened?" Porthos asked after a moment. "Can you tell me?"

"I had a stupid meltdown," Athos sighed. "It was just - there were children everywhere."

"That'd be enough to give me the heebie-jeebies right enough," Porthos murmured and Athos gave him a reproachful smile. It was one of the things that he'd come to value the most about Porthos, that while underneath he was endlessly sympathetic and caring, he was also prepared to rip the piss out of Athos' darkest anxieties, making him see them for how ridiculous they really were.

"I just wanted it to be me," Athos said softly. "I might have a son and I don't even know his name, Porthos."

Porthos wriggled closer and hugged him. "I don't think you should get your hopes up too much before we know for certain," he warned, eyeing the cuddly toy with a certain amount of misgivings. 

"I know." Athos sighed. "I was see-sawing between being convinced I was a father and complete despair that I never would be. It just got too much. I couldn't breathe, I thought I was going to die. It felt like I was having a heart attack."

Porthos kissed him affectionately on the temple. "Sounds more like a panic attack to me. You did the right thing, to call me." 

"There's more," Athos said reluctantly. Porthos nodded for him to continue, looking wary.

"I - went in a pub." 

"Okay." Porthos kept his face impassive. "Did you have a drink?"

"No. I made myself come out again. And text you." 

Porthos let out the breath he'd been holding. "I'm proud of you."

"For nearly giving in?" Athos asked, sounding incredulous.

"For not giving in," Porthos corrected. "And for calling me. Athos, I know you see it as weakness, but I do know how much it must cost you to ask for help. That's not weakness in my book, that takes enormous balls. So yeah, I'm proud of you, I mean that."

Athos let out a shuddering sigh, and let some of the tension ease out of his body. Porthos shifted them round so they were lying more comfortably together, and nuzzled a kiss into his cheek.

"You haven't told me what _you_ want for Christmas yet," he remarked, reaching down to play with the elephant's trunk.

"Do you think if I asked nicely, Santa would give me an erection?" Athos murmured.

Porthos sniggered. "To be honest I don't think it's that sort of sack."

\--

The last days before Christmas ticked away with no word from Aramis, and Athos resigned himself to learning nothing more about Milady's whereabouts any time soon. 

Milady had given him no indication that she would return or any way of getting hold of her, losing interest as soon as she accepted he was telling the truth about having no money. He'd pleaded with her not to go, to tell him about the boy, to have pity. His words had fallen on deaf ears.

He went back to his bedsit to pick up a few items of post, and learned from the new incumbent that there'd been no unexpected lady visitors since he'd moved out, which set his mind slightly more at ease. At least he hadn't missed her trying to get hold of him. 

\--

They spent Christmas quietly, he and Porthos. Neither of them had any other family, and in the end Athos was surprised how much he enjoyed himself. Porthos cooked them a fabulous lunch and they spent the rest of the day tucked up together on the sofa, watching mindless telly and eating chocolates. Porthos insisted on putting a Christmas hat on the elephant, now irrevocably known as Nelly, and sat him up in the armchair opposite.

Boxing Day promised to be more of the same, but halfway through the afternoon they were surprised by the doorbell going.

Athos followed Porthos out into the hall, curious to see who it was. It turned out to be Aramis, bustling in out of the cold and as cheerful as ever.

"Hello! Happy Christmas. I can't stop," Aramis told them, "I just wanted to deliver two things - an address - " he pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it not to Porthos but to Athos. "There you go, that should be what you want. Her full address."

Athos took it, shaken. "I - thank you," he stammered, but Aramis waved it away.

"No problem. Told you she'd come up with the goods. What was the other thing, oh yes, an invitation. New Year's Eve party. You'll both come, won't you?"

Porthos looked startled. "Oh, er, no, we - "

"We'd love to," Athos interrupted, and Aramis beamed at him.

"Splendid! Kicks off at eight, room above the Goat And Garter. See you there." Before they could say anything else he'd let himself out again, and they looked at each other.

"What did you say that for?" Porthos protested.

"I want to meet your friends," Athos said mildly. "Come to that, I want _you_ to meet your friends."

Porthos looked troubled. "You don't have to put yourself in harm's way. It'll be boozy," he warned. 

"I know. But you'll be with me. And I need to know if I can do it," Athos argued. "If I can be around other people who are drinking without cracking up, that makes life a lot easier for everyone."

"Alright," Porthos said grudgingly. "But only on one condition. That if you're finding it hard, you tell me. You let me take you home." 

"Agreed," Athos nodded, and Porthos hugged him. 

"So what does that say?" he prompted, noting that Athos was still clutching the folded slip of paper in his hand. Athos looked nervous, and Porthos nudged him. "Want me to look?"

"Bugger off." Athos steeled himself and opened it. It was a printout, detailing the current address for one Milady Clarick de Winter. She was living in a city not twenty miles distant.

"So. What will you do?" Porthos asked quietly. "Go and see her?"

"I don't know." Athos abruptly lost his nerve. "What do you think I should do?"

"I'll drive you over there if that's what you want? I'd come in with you. You don't have to face her alone, Athos." 

Athos shook his head, feeling considerably less brave now he was faced with the possibility of finding out for sure. "I don't know if I can," he whispered.

"Well do you want me to go on my own?" Porthos offered. 

"She wouldn't let you in."

Porthos sighed. "Okay. Well, it's up to you, I guess there's no rush. Sleep on it, maybe. Just let me know when you decide what you want to do about it. I mean, you don't have to do anything. If you reckon she was lying, there's no reason to worry about it."

"But what if she wasn't?" Athos protested.

Porthos hooked an arm round his waist and mouthed a kiss onto the base of his neck. "Well that's what you have to decide. Look, why don't we do a drive-by? Just see if we can spot her, work out if she's actually there. You don't have to ring the bell."

Seizing eagerly on this suggestion as a compromise Athos agreed, and the next day Porthos drove them over there. Sitting parked up across the road from the address, they regarded the building with interest. It looked like it had originally been one house, probably dating from the 1920's and now turned into flats.

Porthos made to open his door and Athos grabbed him in alarm. "What are you doing?"

"Going over to have a look at the buzzers," Porthos said. "Relax, she doesn't know what I look like." He jogged quickly across the road and ducked into the porch. Athos chewed at his thumbnail anxiously until he was back in the car.

"De Winter, Flat 3," he reported. "She must be on the second floor." They both automatically looked up at the windows, but there was nothing to see. 

A few minutes of sitting watching nothing happen, and Porthos was bored. 

"Come on, let's go and find some lunch," he suggested. "If we come back when it's starting to get a bit dark, we'll be able to see if there's any lights on."

They found a cafe and whiled away a couple of hours with a late lunch that segued into an early tea, before making their way back just after half three. The cloud cover meant it was already mostly dark, and as they parked up in the same spot as before, it was obvious nobody was home. 

"Maybe she's gone away for Christmas," Porthos mused. "Does she have any family?"

Athos frowned. "A brother. I suppose she might have gone there. She's not here, anyway, is she?"

"Doesn't look like it." Porthos reached over and squeezed his hand. "Why don't we come back next week, have another look? If she has gone away for the holidays, she should be back by then."

Athos agreed, and Porthos turned the car for home. "You okay?" he asked, thinking that Athos was rather quiet, and wondering what he'd made of the wasted trip.

"Yes." Athos looked over at him and sighed. "To be honest, it feels rather like a stay of execution."

\--

The next week was a restless time for Athos, not helped by the fact he was at rather a loose end. The warehouse was closed for Christmas and he had nothing to do. Porthos had taken the time off as well, declaring that the weather was too changeable to do much, and in any case he was between large jobs. 

Mooching into the kitchen for a cup of tea one day, Athos found the table was covered in scattered sheets of paper. Porthos had his head in the fridge looking for leftovers, and Athos took the opportunity to run his eye over the paperwork. There were pages of figures with various scribbled amendments and crossings out, lists of plants, and several sheets of rather messily drawn schematics.

"What's all this?" Athos asked curiously.

"Eh?" Porthos turned round with a piece of cheese sticking out of his mouth, looking furtive at being caught grazing. "Oh. I'm tendering for a job. The old rectory, on Market Street. Been empty for years, but now this young couple have bought it. More money than sense if you ask me, but they want to restore the gardens. Former glories, and all that jazz." Porthos came over to the table and scratched his head. "I think my price will come in okay, but the trouble is they strike me as a bit style over substance, you know what I mean?"

"They'll focus on the presentation of the quote rather than the content?" Athos guessed, and Porthos nodded vigorously. 

"I've been trying to flesh it out a bit, but I think I'd have been better off hiring a five year old to draw it for me," he sighed, prodding one of his efforts. He looked speculatively at Athos. "Now if only I knew an artist..."

Athos snorted. "You know a class full of them. Not to mention a teacher."

"Yeah, but I'm only living with one of them," Porthos wheedled, looking beseeching.

"I don't exactly have any experience drawing planting schemes," Athos objected. "I'm probably better at drawing knobs than daffodils."

"Let's face it, you're going to be better than me," Porthos pointed out. _"Please?"_

Athos capitulated. "Oh alright, I'll have a go. But I can't promise they'll be any good."

"Would you?" Porthos gave him a big kiss. "You're a sweetheart. I really appreciate it. I mean that."

\--

Athos spent the next couple of days completely absorbed. Every time Porthos looked in on him he was industriously working away, either at the kitchen table or on the clunky old PC set up in the spare room. Porthos wasn't entirely sure what he was up to, having presumed Athos would just turn his rough sketches into something rather neater and more professional looking, but he left him to it on the grounds he seemed quite content.

On the evening of the second day, Athos came to find him in the sitting room and presented him with a sheaf of papers, looking rather nervous. "Here."

Porthos looked through them in surprise, and Athos swallowed. 

"I hope you don't mind, I re-jigged the lot. I drew up the planting schemes, and did a couple of artists impressions of what it might look like as well, based on your survey measurements - here - and then I typed up your proposal and put your quote figures into a proper spreadsheet. Um, some of your calculations were a bit out, so I've corrected those, and Christ, you really undersell your own time, I've bumped up your hourly rate, that way it'll cover your design time as well, it should all be chargeable. If they know their stuff they're just as likely to pass on it if you under-quote as over, because they'll be afraid you'll stiff them for extras. Oh, and you're using your own car as a company vehicle, are you getting the tax benefits on that? Just something that occurred to me. Also you should have put in an allowance for journey time and petrol if you're collecting materials, rather than the employer providing them, so I added that. Anyway, um, I scanned in the drawings, and I've done the whole presentation as a pdf, so you could email it to them if you wanted. If you're going to print it, I should get it done at a shop, your printer's not the greatest, but this at least gives you an idea. Um." Athos ground to a halt because Porthos was staring at him. "Sorry. I hope you don't think I'm interfering, I know you only asked me to do the drawings."

"This is amazing," Porthos finally managed.

"Is it?" Athos shrugged. "All pretty basic stuff really." 

"That's easy for you to say," Porthos grinned. "I'm more of a hands-on chap meself." He leafed through the pages again. "Seriously, Athos, this is incredible. Why the hell are you still stuffing envelopes for a living?"

"You know why," Athos said awkwardly. "No references, recent history of being unreliable and blatantly telling gaps in my CV." He gave a tight smile. "It would be less embarrassing to tell potential employers I'd been inside for those months, rather than lying drunk in a bedsit somewhere."

Porthos whacked him on the head with the rolled up presentation. "Stop that. That's the past. We need to start thinking about your future. You want to be a box-bunny for the rest of your life?"

"You know I don't," Athos sighed.

"Do I?" Porthos looked at him levelly. "You never talk about wanting to get back into business."

"The pressure of all that was part of what contributed to the drinking," Athos admitted. "I have no desire to go back to the level I was at. But yeah, okay, something a bit more challenging would be nice."

"I could always pay you to write all my submissions," Porthos said, only half joking. 

"You think it's okay then?" Athos said, still not convinced Porthos wasn't just being polite.

"It's better than okay. Did you say I could email it? Let's do it now."

"Are you sure you don't mind about the changes I made?" Athos protested, following Porthos upstairs to the computer.

"I'm sending it as it is," Porthos said firmly. "I trust your judgement. I know planting, and you clearly know decent business models. Let's do it." He paused in the doorway and pulled Athos into his arms to kiss him. "Thank you." 

"Thank you," Athos replied, blushing slightly. "For letting me have a crack at it."

Porthos grinned. "You're welcome to my crack any time you want."

\--

"You sure you're okay with this?" They were standing outside the Goat and Garter pub on New Year's Eve, and Porthos had asked the same question at roughly half-hourly intervals all afternoon.

"I'm fine. Don't fuss."

Porthos grinned sheepishly. "I worry. I can't help it." He took hold of Athos' hand. "Shall we then?"

They entered through the main doors and went up a staircase to the left, into the private venue above. It was only just gone eight but the room was already thronged with people, drinking and talking and occasionally shrieking with laughter.

"Theatre people mostly," Porthos muttered to Athos. "Excitable lot. Talking of which..." Aramis had burst out of the throng and thrown his arms around Porthos in greeting.

"Hello. I'm so glad you could both come." Aramis beamed at them. He was clearly considering giving Athos a hug too, but took in his expression and thought better of it.

"Porthos!" Somebody else detached themselves from the crowd and hurled themselves into his arms. Athos looked on in some amusement, quietly pleased that Porthos seemed such a popular figure.

"Where have you been hiding?" The woman currently clinging to him was dressed in a floor length coat that seemed to be made from hundreds of different off-cuts of velvet, and had more strips tied into her hair.

"I haven't been hiding," Porthos laughed, disentangling himself. "Just been a bit busy."

"He's got himself a boyfriend, Flea," Aramis supplied helpfully and she squeaked, taking in Athos standing quietly next to him for the first time. Flea looked him seriously up and down and then nodded in apparent approval.

"Hello. Sorry, you must think we're all quite mad."

"No, everybody seems very nice so far," Athos smiled. 

"Let me get you both drinks, you must be parched. Everyone's having a glass of champagne first, how's that?"

"Not for me thanks," Athos said quickly. "I'm not drinking I'm afraid."

"Oh he's not making you drive is he? Porthos!" Flea cried reproachfully. But Athos shook his head. He'd made his mind up to be more open about things this year.

"No, I can't drink at all, I'm afraid. I have a - small - problem," he admitted, horribly conscious that Aramis was listening to all of this and wondering what he thought.

"Ohhhh." Flea caught on at once and made an enquiring tippling gesture with her hand. Porthos glared at her, but she patted Athos' arm sympathetically. "Don't worry lovey, you're amongst friends here. Just about everyone in this room's been in rehab for something or other at some point. Practically a second home for some of them. Well, apart from Porthos of course, he's always been too good to be true. Haven't you big boy?" She squeezed Porthos' bicep teasingly, and he wriggled away.

"Gerroff!"

Flea smirked. "I'll find you something else," she said to Athos. "What about you Porthos, will you have champagne?"

"I'd better not," Porthos muttered, but Athos nudged him.

"Go on. I don't mind, honestly. You've been so good, you deserve it. And we're walking home, it's not like you're going to have to drive me anywhere."

Porthos wavered and then gave in. He liked a drink, and abstaining these last few weeks had taken more willpower than he was comfortable admitting. It gave him a flavour of how much harder it must be for Athos.

A glass was procured for him and Flea disappeared back into the crush to find something more suitable for Athos. Porthos took a sip and hummed in approval. "God that's nice," he said unthinkingly, and then immediately looked horrified. 

Athos snorted. "Stop looking so guilty and enjoy it."

"It's been a while. Couple glasses of this, I'll be anyone's," Porthos teased.

"You'd better not be." Athos slipped his arm through Porthos', smiling. 

Flea reappeared at that point, clutching a bottle and a glass. "Here you go, how's this?"

Athos took it from her. Sparkling elderflower cordial, chilled and unopened. "This is fantastic, thank you."

"Tastes like cat piss if you ask me, but each to their own." Flea wrinkled her nose and smiled, blowing a kiss to Porthos before melting back into the crowd. 

"Oh, how did it turn out with Milady?" Aramis asked, suddenly remembering. "Was that address any use?"

They turned back to him, Athos feeling relieved that Aramis didn't seem bothered by his confession. He'd been worried Aramis would think Porthos should have chosen someone with fewer issues.

"We drove over, but there was nobody home," Porthos was saying. "Gonna try again next week." He looked sideways at Athos. "Except Athos is a bit nervous about confronting her," he added slyly.

Athos bristled with embarrassment but couldn't really argue with Porthos' assessment. Fortunately Aramis didn't seem to think this was pathetic, and instead gave the matter some thought. 

"Why don't you send someone else?" he asked. "Make Porthos go."

"I suggested that," Porthos pointed out before Athos could get a word in. "He reckons she'd never let me in, let alone talk to me about it."

"Then you need someone she can't turn away," Aramis mused. "Somebody official." 

"Like who?" Athos asked, at a loss.

"I don't know. Child Support Agency?" Aramis suggested, grinning.

"She's chasing you for money, that's not a bad idea," Porthos put in. 

"Isn't that a bit arse backwards though?" Athos frowned. "She should be setting them on me surely, not the other way round."

"It's a question of custody, right?" Aramis asked. "You can't send a solicitor, because she'd know you wouldn't have the money to hire one, but CSA - they could theoretically argue for access to the child in return for assessing what you could afford to pay in maintenance, right?"

"You sure you haven't got any illegitimate children tucked away?" Porthos smirked. "You seem to know an awful lot about it."

"Not as far as I know," Aramis laughed. "What do you think?"

"It's a good idea, but I wouldn't know how to go about contacting them," Athos said. "And anyway, I might get stung for maintenance payments that I can't afford."

"I don't think Aramis is suggesting you send a real one," Porthos guessed, and Aramis nodded immediately.

"Just somebody posing as one. Fake ID, cheap suit, clipboard, she's not going to know the difference."

"You're serious?" Athos asked, taken aback.

"Aramis could pull it off, easy," Porthos said. "Flea could do him a convincing ID." He grinned. "She's been making 'em for us since we were fourteen, after all."

"What do you say?" Aramis asked. "It'd be fun."

"He's never missed a chance to dress up, ever since we was kids," Porthos told Athos with some amusement, but then frowned at Aramis. "This is a serious situation though, mate."

"I know," Aramis reassured him. "Don't worry, I can do gravitas when it's required."

As if the universe was intent on proving him wrong, a woman in a lot of floaty chiffon appeared and draped her arms around Aramis from behind.

"There you are you naughty boy! Leaving me all alone like that." 

Aramis turned and kissed her, and Athos assumed this must be the Marguerite who so helpfully provided the information on Milady's whereabouts.

"Hello, you must be Ma- " he started, intending to thank her. Aramis though, cut right across him quickly with a slight look of panic.

"Everybody, I'd like you to meet Adele. Adele, this is my good friend Porthos, and his partner Athos."

They both dutifully said hello, and Aramis hastily packed Adele off again with instructions to fetch them both a drink.

"What happened to Marguerite?" Porthos asked, exchanging a look with Athos.

"Oh, you know." Aramis waved a hand vaguely. "Marguerite has many excellent points, but she's not really a party girl, if you know what I mean?"

"Do they know about each other?" Porthos asked sternly.

"No. And I'd quite like to keep it that way, so I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your mouth shut," Aramis told him. Porthos shook his head in disgust.

"You really are a shit," he muttered. Aramis spread his hands in a gesture that was simultaneously an admission of guilt and of supreme indifference.

"What can I say? I'm a man in demand." He winked at them and turned to follow Adele through the crowd.

Porthos looked a little uncomfortable. "He's not always like that," he said awkwardly. 

Athos smiled. "I'm guessing sometimes he's worse?" 

"You don't mind?" Porthos asked anxiously, not wanting Athos to think badly of his best friend. "He's a great guy, honestly, he's just never been able to keep it in his trousers." 

Athos shook his head. "I figure the more dubious his love life, the fewer grounds he has for objecting to yours," he said.

"Why would he object to mine?" Porthos demanded in surprise.

"He's your best friend," Athos said simply. "If he took up with an alcoholic with custody issues, wouldn't you be worried?"

"Yeah. I s'pose." Porthos kissed him firmly on the cheek. "Fortunately for him I've taken up with an infinitely adorable and artistically talented, if occasionally grouchy - ow!" He dodged back as Athos jabbed him in the side and almost spilt the rest of his drink on the woman standing behind him.

"Oops. Sorry." Porthos gave her an apologetic smile and downed the last of his champagne as they moved to a slightly less crowded corner.

"Would you like another?" Athos asked, but Porthos shook his head.

"Better not."

"You can if you want," Athos persisted. "I don't mind."

"I don't like the sense that we're gambling with your limits," Porthos confessed. "It can't be easy for you even being in here, it's surely going to be worse if I get pissed?"

Athos considered the question seriously. "I don't think I could cope if you got rolling drunk," he admitted. "But getting a bit merry shouldn't be a problem. You know your capacity better than me. I just don't want to be the one telling you you can't have any more."

"Athos, I absolutely want you to tell me if you need me to stop," Porthos countered. "I'm still not entirely sure we should have come at all."

"Okay, look," Athos sighed. "The way I see it, this is only going to work if two things happen."

"Go on."

"Firstly, that I am able to be completely honest with you. About how I'm feeling, whether I'm coping, if I need help."

"Absolutely." Porthos nodded. "What's the second thing?"

"That in turn, you accept that I _am_ being completely honest with you. That you trust me to know where the line is. Because at the moment, it feels a bit like you're trying to second-guess me all the time."

Porthos digested that. "Alright. Fair point," he admitted. "So you're okay here?"

Athos nodded.

"And you're okay if I have another drink, on the understanding that I don't get drunk?"

Another nod.

"And you'll tell me if and when you don't want me to have any more, if that comes before I stop of my own accord?"

"Yes."

Porthos nodded back and took a deep breath. "Okay then." They looked at each other, and tentatively smiled. It felt like a new understanding had been reached, and possibly an argument successfully navigated.

Athos set his bottle of elderflower and his glass on a handy windowsill and slipped his arms round Porthos' waist. "I'm sorry I'm so complicated," he murmured. Porthos pulled him into a hug and laughed.

"Could be worse. At least I'm not Aramis. He's got two sets of problems, entirely of his own devising."

"True." Athos smiled. "At least you don't have to worry about remembering my name."

\--

By midnight Porthos was feeling considerably more relaxed, although he'd restrained himself to two glasses of wine after the champagne. After a couple of months of almost total abstinence they'd been quite enough to make him feel fuzzily happy, although the fact that Athos had spent the whole evening at his side and appeared to genuinely like all his friends had certainly been a contributing factor to his good mood.

When the new year was rung in, Athos turned to Porthos and kissed him on the lips before Porthos realised what he was about. He pulled back a little, suddenly cautious.

"I'm not sure we should, if I've been drinking?" Porthos murmured. "Before, you said - ?"

Athos shrugged and pulled Porthos more snugly against him. "Trust me, right now I need to kiss you a lot more than I need a drink."

Porthos made a noise of conflicted surrender, and reached for Athos' glass. "Hang on then, pass me the cat's piss." He swilled the last mouthful of rather flat cordial, and made a face. Athos laughed.

"That's not going to make a blind bit of difference you know."

"Makes me feel better about it," Porthos growled. "Come here then." He pulled Athos back into his arms and they kissed each other for a long time.

"Can we go home?" Porthos said when they finally pulled apart. "Tonight's been great, but I for one would quite like to spend the first few hours of this year snogging you rather than making small talk with people."

Athos smiled at him. "Alright then. Let's go home."

They found Aramis and made their goodbyes, before slipping away into the night. They held hands all the way home, and as soon as they got in the front door Porthos pushed Athos against the wall and kissed him passionately. 

"God I want you," Porthos groaned, burying his face in Athos' shoulder.

"You can have me, if you want," Athos reminded him gently. "I've always said that."

"I know." Porthos sighed. "I just can't get it out of my head that it wouldn't be fair on you."

Athos twisted them round so it was Porthos leaning back against the wall, and started unbuckling his belt.

"Athos?" Porthos half laughed. "What are you doing?"

"Shhh." Athos kissed him on the mouth to keep him quiet, and unzipped Porthos' flies. "Let me do this for you." 

Porthos made no further objections as Athos carefully freed his erection from his underwear, assuming Athos intended to give him a handjob like before and too turned on by the idea to refuse. There was something about the fact they hadn't made it any further than the hallway that added an extra level of guilty excitement to it.

As soon as his cock was settled snugly in Athos' palm though, Athos promptly dropped to his knees.

"Athos?" It came out as more of a hiccup than anything, as Athos hadn't wasted any time in getting his mouth around him.

"Fuck." Porthos let his head thump back against the wall, one hand tangling in Athos' hair. He vaguely thought that he should be able to turn this down, to save himself, in a way, until such time as they could enjoy these things together. But Athos was sucking like a pro and Porthos was a bit drunk and a lot horny and there was nothing on earth that could possibly feel better than this right now.

For the next few minutes the only sounds in the hall came from Porthos' heavy breathing and the occasional creak from his leather jacket, over the more subtle noises of Athos sucking him off. Porthos was very quickly reduced to a groaning wreck, and it wasn't long at all before he was spilling his load into Athos' mouth.

Athos sat back on his heels, wiping his lips and silently laughing. Porthos gave him a hand up and kissed him, licking the taste of his own come from Athos' tongue.

"You didn't have to do that," Porthos murmured reprovingly, although without any real conviction.

"I seem to remember somebody doubted my practical experience," Athos replied, and Porthos snorted with laughter. 

"Fair enough. Point well made." He gazed at Athos, sleepily content and a little curious. There was something subtly different about Athos right now, and it took him a moment to realise what it was. In all the time he'd known him, he'd never before seen Athos look truly relaxed and happy. 

Porthos pulled him closer, his softening cock pressing against the cool, smooth material of Athos' suit trousers. "I don't suppose it's created any stirrings down below for you has it?" he asked.

Athos shook his head. "Not a sausage," he replied ruefully. They stared at each other, before simultaneously collapsing into a fit of spluttering giggles at his choice of words.

\--


	6. Chapter 6

Aramis stood outside the house and checked his reflection in the door glass. Slightly crumpled supermarket-label grey suit, cheap glasses (clear glass), and hair neatly brushed but deliberately not washed for a couple of days so it looked greasy. He smirked, thinking that _he_ certainly wouldn't want him turning up on his doorstep with a folder full of official-looking paperwork. He rang the bell for flat 3 and waited. A minute or so later he rang it again and frowned, wondering if he'd had a wasted trip. Maybe she wasn't living here at all, was just using the address. 

He was just weighing up whether to go away and have a coffee and try again later when a woman carrying two shopping bags walked up behind him and unlocked the front door, giving him a cursory glance. Aramis looked more closely, and straightened up.

"Excuse me, Ms de Winter?" Athos had shown him a photograph, and Aramis was certain this was her.

"Yes?" She looked him up and down with some annoyance, clearly contemplating closing the door on him.

"My name is Aramis d'Herblay, Child Maintenance Service, Department of Work and Pensions, may I have a word please?"

She looked taken aback, and put down the bags she was holding. "I assume you have some form of identification?"

He pulled out the laminated card that Flea had made for him, and mentally crossed his fingers. It all looked official enough, and he was counting on the fact it wouldn't occur to her until afterwards that they'd have been a lot more likely to write to her than turn up in person. 

"Do you have anything else?"

"I'm sorry?" 

Milady gestured impatiently. "Another form of ID. Anyone can fake a card. Do you have a driver's license?"

Aramis pulled it out of his wallet, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that they'd opted to use his real name. She studied both and handed them back with a sniff. "You'd better come up."

He followed her up the stairs, suppressing the instinct to offer to carry her bags on the grounds that a government lackey probably wouldn't.

Inside, the second floor flat was airy and bright, and Aramis glanced round covertly, noting the lack of any toys lying about. 

"So? What do you want?" Milady asked bluntly, dumping the bags on the table and taking off her coat. 

"It has been alleged that you have been withholding access to the son you have with - " Aramis made a show of checking his notes. "Mr Athos de la Fere?"

Milady raised an eyebrow. "He's a drunk. He's got no business being around children."

"If you feel you have grounds for not granting access, that would be a matter for the courts," said Aramis carefully. 

"You said something about maintenance? Does that mean he's decided he's going to pay me after all? It's him you should be harassing, not me."

"An assessment would be made of both your finances, before any payments were calculated," Aramis said carefully. Judging by the flat and her clothes, Milady certainly wasn't all that hard up and he wondered what had driven her to try and put the squeeze on Athos in the first place.

She rolled her eyes. "Typical. Well, that's not going to go anywhere is it, the man's living in squalor."

Aramis bristled, indignant on Athos' behalf and glad that she clearly didn't know he was now living with Porthos. But he kept up the mask of bland disinterest, and flipped through his notes. 

"There will be a certain amount of paperwork for you to fill out I'm afraid, if you wish to make an application for maintenance costs. And as I say, you will need to allow him access to the child. They can of course be supervised visits, if you're not comfortable leaving the child alone with him, especially if he's under a certain age - I understand he's almost three?"

Milady folded her arms. "Alright, let's end this charade." Aramis froze, thinking he'd been rumbled, but she just sighed and shook her head. "There is no child."

"What do you mean?" But he'd suspected this from the start, Aramis realised. There was a complete lack of any sign a child lived here, let alone the child itself in evidence.

"I don't have a son," Milady said flatly. "You've had a wasted trip. You can go."

"But Mr la Fere alleges you brought his son to see him?"

She shrugged. "Gabriel's my nephew. I borrowed him from my brother. If you must know, I needed some capital for an investment and I thought my worthless ex-husband might be convinced to cough up. Turns out there's nothing left. What kind of man manages to drink tens of thousands of pounds worth of savings?" she asked incredulously. 

"A very unhappy one, I should imagine madam," said Aramis soberly.

She sneered. "Anyway, there's no child. Why are you still here?"

"I'm sorry, but what you're describing is attempted fraud," Aramis objected, astonished at her apparent lack of concern.

"Well, if he had any money he could sue me, couldn't he? As it is...look, I don't have a bloody son, you're welcome to search the place if you think I'm lying."

"Thank you." Ignoring her look of fury, Aramis took her at her word and walked through the flat, peering into the other rooms. He had to be sure. But his initial impression was right, there was no sign of a child, not so much as a drawing stuck to the fridge. Also, there was only one bedroom.

"Satisfied?" she glared, as he came back to the door. 

"I'm sorry to have troubled you," he said stiffly. "Although you only have yourself to blame, given your actions."

"Will you see him?" 

"I'm sorry?" Aramis turned back, halfway through the door.

"I'm not sure how this works. Will you see him in person?"

Aramis hesitated. "Yes."

"Then you can tell him he's had a lucky escape. He'd have made a terrible father." She gave a hard smile and shut the door in Aramis' face. 

\--

When the doorbell went, Athos and Porthos exchanged a tense look. They'd been waiting for Aramis to return in a state of nervous anticipation, and Athos particularly looked ready to crack. 

Privately, Porthos suspected that if it had been good news Aramis would have rung to tell them as soon as possible. That he'd come back in person didn't bode well, but Porthos kept his thoughts to himself. Athos was keyed up enough as it was.

Porthos opened the door and Aramis walked in, immediately looking over at Athos who was hovering in the doorway to the sitting room.

Aramis shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, not wanting to draw it out. Athos bowed his head, not making a sound, but Porthos saw that he'd clenched his fists as if trying to hold himself together by force of will alone.

"Not his?" Porthos asked heavily.

"Not hers," Aramis said. "Apparently it was her brother's kid. I'm sorry Athos, it was nothing but a shakedown after all."

Athos nodded tightly. "Sorry, I - " he managed. "Excuse me." He turned and ran up the stairs. Porthos suspected he didn't want Aramis to see him crying.

"Thank you, for everything," Porthos said. "For doing this for us. I imagine it wasn't a bundle of laughs." 

Aramis shook his head. "Honestly, now I'm kind of glad it was me and not Athos," he said. "I don't think she would have been kind to him."

"It's definitely not his?" Porthos asked helplessly. "She wasn't double-bluffing?"

"I went through the flat. There's not a sign a toddler's ever so much as set foot in it. I'm sorry. I know he wanted it to be his. Will he be okay?"

Porthos sighed. "I don't know. He's been trying to stay objective, but I think secretly he'd convinced himself it was true. I'd better go and check on him."

Aramis clapped him on the shoulder. "You know where I am, okay? You don't have to cope alone, let me know if you need a friend to lay stuff on. I'm not asking you to break any confidences, I'm just saying I know it can be hard when it feels like you have to shoulder everything yourself."

"Thanks. Appreciate it." Porthos nodded gratefully and Aramis hugged him goodbye.

When he'd gone, Porthos made his way quietly up the stairs. He'd been half afraid he'd discover that Athos had had a bottle of something squirreled away, but Athos was just lying curled up on the bed, shoulders silently shaking.

With a slight feeling of déjà vu, Porthos climbed up behind him and wrapped his arms around Athos' sobbing body. After a few seconds Athos turned in his arms and buried his face against Porthos' chest. 

Relieved that Athos was at least accepting comfort and not pushing him away, Porthos enveloped him in the biggest full-body hug he could, and just held him until the sobs finally died away.

Exhausted and tearstained, Athos eventually looked up at him and Porthos kissed him on the nose, not knowing what to say. 'Sorry' seemed inadequate. 'It'll be alright' seemed unhelpful.

"I feel like I've lost a child," Athos confessed, voice scratchy from crying. "Is that stupid?"

"No." Porthos thumbed away the tears still glistening on Athos' cheeks. "Nothing you feel is stupid. I can't imagine how much it must hurt."

"I know you thought I shouldn't get my hopes up."

"You wanted it to be true. I can understand that."

Athos sniffed, and wiped his nose. "I never thought I'd be a father. And then, when it seemed like I was - I could never have dreamed it would be such a good feeling. I've never wanted anything so much." Athos rested his head tiredly on the pillow, and Porthos stroked his hair. "And now I never will be," Athos whispered sadly.

"You don't know that," Porthos said. He reached down and took Athos' hand, laced their fingers together. "We could always adopt."

Athos raised a watery smile, and Porthos nudged him. "I'm serious. I always wanted to have kids eventually. We could totally do that."

"I don't think they'd let me," Athos sighed, still mostly convinced Porthos was just trying to cheer him up.

"Why not? You haven't done anything wrong. You haven't got a criminal record. You've even got your license back. Give it a couple of years of staying dry, show 'em you've got it under control. Show 'em you're in a stable relationship. They'd have no grounds whatsoever for turning us down."

Athos looked confused. "You're serious?"

"Damn right I'm serious." Porthos smiled at him. "I can't think of anything I'd like better than to raise a couple of kids with you." He held Athos' gaze, and his smile became softer. "I love you, Athos."

The look of bewilderment on Athos' face meant Porthos couldn't help giving a breathy laugh.

"Do you mean that?" Athos ventured, and Porthos nodded at once, encouraged by the fact that Athos seemed open to accepting it. He'd been half worried that Athos would flatly refuse to believe him.

"With all my heart." Porthos shuffled closer again and kissed him. "Is that okay?" he added, trying to interpret the delicate frown currently furrowing Athos' brow and failing.

Athos slowly nodded, and Porthos felt his heart swell with relief. Athos looked like he was still processing a lot of information though and Porthos stayed quiet for a while, letting him deal with it. Finally Athos looked up again, and this time his gaze was sharper.

"You're not just saying that?"

Porthos shook his head. "I wouldn't do that to you. And I was kind've wary about saying it before, but the last few weeks have just done for me. I'm head over heels for you Athos, and don't ask me why, but I'm crazy about you."

Athos actually smiled, and it was Porthos' turn to give a half-puzzled frown. "You believe me, don't you? I was afraid you wouldn't."

"In a strange sort of way, it makes more sense to me," Athos said rather shyly. "I could never for the life of me work out what you saw in me. It made no logical sense, for you to like me as much as you claimed you did. But love - well love's not rational, is it?"

Porthos spluttered with laughter. "Are you saying you're more prepared to believe that I love you than that I like you?" he demanded.

"Yes." Athos looked a little defensive, but he was smiling again.

"You're bonkers." Porthos kissed him, more firmly. "But I love you."

"I love you too," Athos whispered, and Porthos beamed at him hopefully. 

"Do you?" 

Athos nodded. "Of course I do. How could I not?" He sighed a little wistfully, and Porthos nuzzled him. "I'm sorry," Athos murmured. "Right now I feel happy and sad at the same time, and it's all a bit overwhelming."

"It's okay," Porthos promised him. "After today I'd hardly expect you to be turning cartwheels." He gnawed his lip, undecided as to whether he should bring up Athos' alcoholism when he hadn't. "How are you doing?" he asked finally. "You know. Cravings-wise?"

Athos gave a faint smile. "You make it sound like I'm pregnant. But no, I'm okay, I think. I'm not about to run to the bottle if that's what you're worried about. So you don't have to cuff me to the bed."

"Pity," Porthos smirked, and rolled Athos into his arms.

"Well, I'm not stopping you, if that's what you want," Athos told him, laughing quietly. "But no, I'm doing okay. Will you stay with me though? Right now I think I need you more than I need a drink."

"I'm staying with you forever," Porthos promised, and if Athos looked a little moist around the eyes again at that, he tactfully pretended not to notice.

\-- 

"Well bugger me sideways." Porthos stared at the letter he'd just opened, piece of toast arrested halfway to his mouth.

"I would if I could." Athos smirked at him across the table. "What's up?"

"The rectory job. I got it."

"Really? That's fantastic."

"Yeah." Porthos frowned at the letter in disbelief. "Bloody hell."

"Why so surprised?" Athos asked him, buttering a piece of toast for himself.

"Never thought I'd get it," Porthos admitted. "Never in a million years. It's a huge job, and I'm just a one man band. Here, this is thanks to you this is. How'd you fancy helping me out on it? Split the profits, like?"

"Don't be daft, that's your fee," Athos protested. "I'll give you a hand if you want though."

"Then I'll pay you a proper wage," Porthos said firmly. "I'd have to hire in a labourer anyway, so it might as well go to you."

"Why didn't you include that cost in your quote then?" Athos frowned. "You should have."

"Like I say, I didn't imagine they'd give it to me," Porthos muttered, re-reading the offer letter with raised eyebrows.

"Then why apply for it in the first place?" Athos looked abruptly suspicious. "Oh for Christ's sake, please tell me it wasn't just to give me something to do?" 

Porthos looked shifty. "No. Well, slightly." Athos glared at him and he winced. "Look, okay, I admit it, I thought it'd do you good, to have something to concentrate on. But I only meant for you to do the sketches, I never imagined you'd revamp the whole thing. Or that you'd win me the job in the process." He gave Athos a bemused smile. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"I'm a gullible fool," Athos muttered bitterly, and Porthos kicked him in the ankle.

"Don't be like that. And don't tell me you didn't enjoy doing it. And for your information yes I would still have applied for it anyway, it doesn't hurt to keep your name out there. I just wouldn't have got it without your input, or at least if I had I'd have been bollocksed at the price I was originally going in with." 

Athos grudgingly relaxed a little and Porthos reached over to take his hand. 

" _Will_ you help me? It'd be more fun than stuffing boxes."

"I don't know the first thing about gardening," Athos objected.

"You don't have to. I'm the guv'ner, you're strictly the grunt work," Porthos grinned. "You just do as I tell you."

Athos conceded a laugh. "Oh, alright then. As I seem to have got you into this, I suppose it's the least I can do."

Porthos beamed at him. "You're a treasure. Trust, me, we'll make a great team. I can feel it in my water."

\--

Somewhat to both their surprise, it turned out that they did in fact work together rather well. The first couple of weeks were mostly hard labour - clearing away years' worth of brambles and scrubby bushes, sweeping up dead wood and leaves, gradually exposing the lines of the old paths and raised beds. The weather was cold but mostly clear, and Athos found he enjoyed the outdoor work a lot. It left him physically tired enough to fall sleep at night with no problems, and gave him a sense of achievement that the previous position with its monotonous and repetitive tasks had never given him.

There were moments of unexpected pleasure too - discovering the early crocuses flowering beneath an overgrown hedge; coming across a beautiful toad under an old clay flowerpot; the robin that would come and sing to them in return for the worms that they turned up. Sitting in the ramshackle garden shed sheltering from a sudden rainstorm, sharing a flask of stewed tea with Porthos gave him a sense of inner warmth the like of which he'd never known. 

"You fancy doing this full time then?" Porthos asked him one day, as they were perching on a low wall in what would be the kitchen garden, sharing a round of sandwiches. "I don't just mean as my gofer. I mean like a proper partner. You'd be ace at sorting out the business side of things, and you already know which end of a spade is which."

"I'd love to." Athos looked at him in surprise, both hopeful and cautious. "Are you sure though?"

"Yeah. It's been great having you with me," Porthos told him. "It's loads more fun with two of us. Go on, say yes."

"Alright. Yes," Athos said, then had the breath knocked out of him by the force of Porthos' hug.

"We should celebrate," Porthos said. "There's a party tonight, last night of the run of Aramis' latest play. We're invited, I forgot to tell you. Fancy going?"

"As long as I don't have to dance," Athos said darkly. They'd been to a party for Flea's birthday the week before and she'd made him dance with her, to Porthos' great amusement.

"No dancing, I promise," Porthos said, standing up and brushing breadcrumbs off his lap. "Just lots of pissed actors and stolen props. On second thoughts maybe we should stay in."

Athos smiled up at him. "No, we should go. It's the least we can do, given that we avoided going to see the actual play."

Porthos snorted with laughter. "Yeah, you're right. Okay then. Party time it is."

\--

The theatre bar was crammed and noisy, and Porthos turned to Athos as they entered to double check he was okay with it. 

Athos guessed what he was thinking and nodded before Porthos had a chance to say anything. "It's fine."

"Let me know if you need to leave, yeah?" Porthos murmured, and Athos nodded again, squeezing his hand.

They fought their way through the crowd to where Aramis could be seen holding court in the far corner and arrived hot and out of breath.

"Porthos! Athos! Glad you could come," Aramis called cheerfully, his arm around yet another woman that neither of them recognised. "You're just in time, Rochefort was just going to the bar."

The man next to him looked irritated and rather surprised, as if this had come as news to him, but clearly decided a display of generosity would stand him in greater stead than arguing. 

"Wine all round is it?" he asked, throwing a crossly distracted look at the five-deep queue for the bar.

"Could I have an orange juice please?" Athos asked, and Rochefort looked at him in faint disgust. 

"What, just an orange juice? No - vodka, or anything in it?"

"Just as it comes, please," said Athos, and Rochefort shrugged. 

"Whatever turns you on." With a last lingering look at the woman on Aramis' arm, Rochefort shouldered his way off towards the bar, stepping on at least three people's feet as he went.

"Who was that?" Athos asked in surprise, not having encountered him before.

"Rochefort? He's one of the play's sponsors," said Aramis. "Bit of a pain, but fucking loaded. And I suppose I should be grateful, Anne here talked him into putting up the money so she could take the lead part. I'd never have met her otherwise." He raised Anne's hand to his lips and kissed it gallantly, and she laughed.

"Wonder if Marguerite's met her yet?" Porthos murmured under his breath to Athos, who stifled a laugh.

"A case of 'Marguerite who?' I'm guessing," Athos whispered back, hiding his mouth with his hand.

"What are you two conspiring about?" Aramis demanded. 

"Us? Nothing?" said Porthos looking innocent, and Aramis snorted.

In a remarkably short space of time that suggested he'd pushed in, Rochefort was back carrying a tray of glasses. "Here we go," he declared, offering it to Anne first. 

Athos looked over the tray that was entirely comprised of wine glasses and cleared his throat. "Er - orange juice?"

Rochefort looked at him blankly, then frowned. "Oh. They were out. Er, here, this one's non-alcoholic." He turned the tray slightly to offer Athos a specific glass.

It was of a slightly different style to the others, although the contents looked much the same and Athos took it hesitantly. "Thank you." 

"No problem." Rochefort immediately turned his back on them and started pointedly talking to Anne again.

Having by now spent enough evenings in the company of Porthos' friends to be comfortable mingling on his own, Athos drifted off through the crowd to speak to another group, mostly because Porthos was going over to talk to Flea and he was vaguely afraid she might make him dance again.

Some time later, Porthos turned at a hand on his shoulder, expecting it to be Athos, but finding it to be Aramis.

"Have you seen Anne anywhere?" he asked.

"No? Have you lost her already? That was careless," Porthos grinned.

"I think Rochefort's nobbled her," Aramis said crossly. "He's probably buying her drinks and boasting about the size of his bank balance."

"Never mind, eh," Porthos laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "If she's got any sense she'll come back of her own accord. Actually if she's got a lot of sense, she might get funding for another run out of him." 

Aramis sighed and laughed. "Yeah, you're probably right. Want another drink?"

"Yeah, okay, thanks. We'd better get one for Athos too." They made their way up to the bar which had cleared a little.

"Two white wines and one non-alcoholic one please," Aramis said, smiling prettily at the barmaid.

"A non-alcoholic what sir, sorry?" she said, lifting off two wine glasses.

"Wine."

She shook her head. "Sorry, we don't stock that. I think we've got non-alcoholic lager, will that do?"

"No, you must do, my friend had one just now," Porthos interrupted urgently, leaning over the bar.

"Not from here they didn't. Sorry, we really don't have any - ?" she tailed off as Porthos turned and dashed away.

Aramis caught up with him a moment later, scanning the crowd frantically for Athos.

"We've got to find him," Porthos said tightly. "Bloody Rochefort, I'll kill him."

"Porthos I'm sorry," said Aramis, looking stricken. "This is my fault."

"No it ain't." Porthos glanced at him and briefly clasped his shoulder. "Don't worry, I don't blame you."

Aramis looked relieved, but still guilty. "Look, is that him, over there?" He'd barely got the words out before Porthos was off running.

"Athos!" 

Athos jumped as Porthos suddenly barged out of the crowd and grabbed him by the shoulders. 

"Hello. Er, everything alright?"

Porthos stared into his face, wondering what to say. "We've got to go. Now."

"Has something happened? Porthos, are you alright?"

Porthos bit his lip. "That wine Rochefort gave you. Did you drink it?"

Athos met his eyes, and groaned. "It was alcoholic, wasn't it?"

"Did you drink it?" Porthos repeated, half frantic with worry.

Athos hesitated. "I drank half of it," he admitted. "I thought it tasted rather too good to be true. In fact, whether it was non-alcoholic or not it was making me want more rather too much, so I put it down." 

Porthos could have wept with relief, both that Athos had had the good sense to guess what it was, and that he seemed quite sanguine about it all.

"We have to go."

"Porthos, really, I'm fine - "

"Not for you, for me. If I stay here I'm going to punch Rochefort in the face."

"Oh." Athos looked amused. "We'd better go then."

Porthos took his arm, and they made their escape.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Porthos persisted as they walked through the icy streets in search of a taxi.

"I'm fine," Athos promised. "It was half a pub measure of cheap wine, not a bottle of single malt. Barely touched the sides." Despite Athos' apparent nonchalance, Porthos was worked up to a spitting degree of anger, and Athos could barely keep up with him as they strode along.

"I should have found that rat bastard and throttled him," Porthos fumed from between clenched teeth.

"To be fair, I don't think he meant it maliciously," Athos pointed out. "I guess he just forgot about the orange juice and couldn't be arsed to go back. It's not like he knows about my problem."

"Don't make excuses for him," Porthos growled. "It was an appalling thing to do whatever the circumstances."

Athos grabbed Porthos by the sleeve and made him slow down. "Forget about it," he said. "There's no harm done. I'll be alright." 

"Promise?" Porthos asked him, and his voice was shaking slightly. Athos wrapped his arms around him and kissed him soundly.

"Just take me home and take me to bed," Athos murmured. "And I promise you I will be okay."

They picked up a taxi in the town centre, and ten minutes later were walking in the front door. As soon as they'd taken off their coats, Porthos pulled Athos into his arms.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "You trusted me to take care of you, and I let you down."

"No you didn't, don't talk bollocks." Athos kissed him. "You're not responsible for somebody else being an arsehole. And anyway, I hardly drank any of it."

"I can't believe I'm freaking out over this more than you," Porthos said, half-laughing. "When did you get so matter-of-fact about it?"

"Maybe when I came to accept I had something else to rely on, to get me through the day," Athos murmured. "Some one." He studied Porthos' face, and smiled faintly. "I think I was scared, before. That if I let myself come to depend on you, it would just be another weakness. But it isn't. You make me strong, Porthos. Stronger than I've ever felt capable of being, before."

Porthos kissed him in delight, pushing Athos into the rack of coats and holding him there with his body, licking into his mouth with a hungry passion. For some time they clung to each other, kissing as if their lives depended on it, until Athos suddenly froze.

"Christ."

"What? What is it?" Porthos pulled back and looked at him in alarm, wondering what was wrong.

In answer, Athos grabbed his hand and placed it over his crotch. Porthos met his eyes and they stared at each other.

"Fuck."

Athos snorted with laughter. "Exactly." A slow grin spread over his face. "You'd better get me into bed. I don't know how long this will last."

They stumbled up the stairs, jostling each other and sniggering. In the bedroom they quickly undressed and Porthos joined Athos in the bed, pulling back the covers to crawl appreciatively up his body. Both of them staring in something like astonished wonder at the fact Athos was fully hard.

"Take me," Athos told him. "Fuck me. Better not hang around."

Porthos spluttered with laughter. "How long's it been, for you? Given you were married to a woman and all?"

"Since I've had something up my arse you mean?" Athos asked with a smirk. He considered. "Probably something like five years."

"Exactly. No way are we skipping the foreplay," Porthos told him firmly. "Besides, I've waited too long to rush this, I'm going to savour every second of it." He lay on top of Athos, covering him with his own body, and sliding the hard length of his own erection against Athos' own.

"God that feels good." Athos let his head fall back into the pillows, and Porthos sucked kisses onto his exposed throat.

Despite Athos' initial fears his unexpected erection showed no signs of waning, and they spent a very happy half hour getting to know each other in all the intimate ways that had so far been outside their grasp.

When Porthos finally inched inside him, Athos was practically begging, but even so his eyes went wide and he tensed a little, and Porthos was glad they'd taken it carefully.

"Okay?" he checked, holding himself still until Athos relaxed around him again, and gave him a breathless smile.

"Yeah. Blimey, Flea was right. You are a big boy."

Porthos burst out laughing and shunted deeper inside him, making Athos gasp and then groan with pleasure.

"Did you ever sleep with her?" Athos asked, as Porthos gradually built up a rolling rhythm in his hips, and Athos was rocking beneath him in time with his long, gentle thrusts.

"Who, Flea?" Porthos laughed. "Nah. Girls aren't really my thing. I leave that side of it to Aramis."

"What about him?" 

"Aramis? No, he's not slept with her either, as far as I know. To be honest I think she's mostly into girls these days."

"No, I meant you. Have you ever slept with him?"

"With Aramis?" Porthos sounded incredulous. "He's my best mate, don't be 'orrible."

Athos laughed. "Sorry. Just wondered."

"Why exactly are we having this conversation now, anyway?" Porthos asked, not letting up on the action of his hips for a moment.

"I don't know really." Athos smiled up at him. "I suppose I was just curious."

Porthos dipped his head and kissed him. "Alright, I might have snogged Aramis once. I think we were both about eighteen. I'd not long told him I reckoned I was gay. I think he was curious."

"I take it you satisfied his curiosity for good?" Athos asked, sounding amused.

"Well he certainly never asked for a reprise." Porthos snorted with laughter. "To be fair we were both shitfaced at the time. You know what it's like."

"I certainly do," Athos murmured, and Porthos groaned, burying his face in Athos' shoulder.

"Why do I always end up putting my foot in it?" he complained.

"You don't," Athos told him. "You just keep assuming I'm going to be upset about perfectly reasonable turns of phrase. I'm not made of china."

"You were once," Porthos said softly.

"Yeah. Maybe." Athos reached up and stroked his face. "I was brittle. Not any more though. Not so much, anyway. Thanks to you." 

"I love you," Porthos breathed. 

"I love you too." Athos pulled him down into a kiss, and for a long while there was no more talking, just the hitch of laboured breathing and quietly drawn out groans interspersed with frequent bursts of laughter.

Eventually they both surrendered to the urge to come, Athos spilling between them moments before Porthos followed suit, locked in each other's arms.

It was a minute or two before they could find the energy to move, to clean up a little, to dispose of the condom. With the minimum of effort expended they curled back together in the warm next of bedclothes, kissing each other fondly and with a certain triumph.

"Was that alright?" Athos murmured.

Porthos gave him a broad, lazy smile. "That, was definitely worth waiting for. Is it greedy of me to be hoping we don't have to go quite so long before doing it again though?" 

"Well given that my body seems to have remembered how to do it, hopefully it won't be," Athos agreed with a laugh.

"What changed?"

"I don't know." Athos sighed, and burrowed contentedly against Porthos' warm bulk. "Maybe I just felt completely safe at last," he mused. "You were so angry, about what happened, so protective." He pressed a kiss to Porthos' chest. "Maybe I realised I really could let go of everything now. That everything really was going to be okay."

"You didn't feel safe, before?" 

"I don't mean from the outside world. I mean from myself." Athos smiled at him, sleepy and soft. "Or maybe I just really, really wanted to sleep with you," he added, and Porthos grinned.

"Bit of both, maybe."

"A lot of both." 

"You look different. Lighter."

"One less thing on my mind I guess." Athos sighed. "Just the whole addiction thing left to worry about now then," he added dryly. 

"You'll cope. I know you will." Porthos lifted Athos' hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. "No, we will."

Athos smiled at him, and snuggled closer. "We will," he echoed. It sounded good. It sounded like home.

\--


End file.
